Secrets: A Father Goose Tale A BTVSSG1 Cross
by litmouse
Summary: Just a happy little story about culture clashes, deceit, trickery, dancing girls, snakes, toads, witches and the law of unintended consequences. With beheadings. Featuring Xander, Faith, Willow and company, and the friendly folks of SG1.
1. Prologue

**Prologue : Pretty Girls and Handsome Men**

**A/N**: Disclaimer: Possession, they say, is nine-tenths of the law. Nevertheless, the BTVS characters appearing here belong to Mutant Enemy et al, The Stargate repertory seems to belong to something called "Gekko" which is nice because I have couple geckos living on my balcony and I would rather think of them as TV producers than insurance salesmen.

**Warning:** Look, this _chapter_ is a warning, okay?

No puppies or kitties will be harmed during this story. Well, probably no kitties, but what with the possible poker games I really can't make any promises. Well, I will promise. No _puppies _will be killed in this story. Anything else is fair game. You've been warned. Also, cussing.

Sad, really, a story about a fantasy world not safe for kitties. I mean, what's the point? You want unpleasant reality, open a newspaper, right?

Gotta laugh or cry, yes? Laughing is better. So, go for the comedy. And the romance. Which, admit it, is usually pretty funny, at least to those not directly involved. Plenty of violence in the world, not nearly enough romance. And go for the sex. Tastefully rendered, of course. Definitely need to up the sex to violence ratio in the entertainment world, don't you agree?

So I try. I really do.

I start out to write nice light funny stories about pretty girls and handsome guys having amusing adventures, bit of romantic comedy in a nice fantasyworld and…. _This _happens….

**Secrets: A Father Goose Tale**

**A BTVS-SG1 Crossover**

**Prologue : Pretty Girls and Handsome Men**

**Haiti, June 2007**

Start with half a dozen…. No, make it eight, girls aged from sixteen to around twenty-five, pretty girls, all of them, beautiful even, of various racial hues and physiognomies, physically fit and lithe and agile in their movements. They're wearing brightly colored halter-tops, a couple are wearing pastel tanks and one, a tall thin girl of Somali heritage has gone fashionably tribal with an off one shoulder leopard print top she's matched with a leather breechclout. The rest are wearing light khaki cargo pants, a couple are wearing colorful capris and one girl is working a pair of Daisy Dukes ….

You can take moment to get a good picture in your mind's eye. I did. (Do bear in mind, the girl in the shorts is just _barely_ sixteen and jailbait, officially at least, in Haiti if not in most of the world, and adjust your thoughts accordingly.)

And now, just to be fair (if not equal) there are three gentlemen of reasonably mind's-eye candy class there as well. A little older than the girls, as is the way of the world. The youngest in his mid-twenties, a dashing, piratical fellow with a deep tropical tan, an eye-patch and a scar on one cheek and a bit of stiffness in one leg that slows but doesn't cripple him. For those that care he's wearing a Hawaiian shirt that though loose and flowing does little to hide the muscled bulk of his shoulders and the impressive biceps.

With him is a short wiry black man of some thirty plus years with a bright infectious grin set in a round face that speaks of central or West African descent. At first glance he appears small next to the pirate but his quick and graceful movements reveal a coiled power to the discerning eye. The fact that he is not wearing a shirt reveals his cut physique.

The third man is tall, thin, caucasian, perhaps he was even white once, before the deep tan set in. With a bit of gray showing at the temples, he's managing to exude a touch of old world elegance despite rather mundane khaki shorts and tee-shirt attire. Managing in fact not to look ridiculous in the pith helmet he is wearing against the sun that though setting is still harsh. Think Peter O'Toole in his prime, or just a little past.

Oh, yes, it is hot, so hot the air is shimmering. Our little party is working their way uphill, sweat is running in glistening rivulets across muscled abs and powerful pecs, moistly transparent cotton halters are clinging to heaving bosoms….

So far, so good, yes? Attractive, perhaps even intriguing people out for an evening stroll, moving toward an unknown destination, just a touch of the exotic in the scene. Not much comedy yet, I admit, but still, as Angel would say…. _Nice! _

No doubt at the top of the hill is a clifftop lodge with cooling breezes and a view of the sun setting into the ocean, a sailboat or two silhouetted on the horizon. There will be showers, or perhaps a picturesque waterfall, in ether case a possible communal situation to allow for a bit of titillating nudity and good-natured raillery. Plus the ever important personal hygiene, of course.

There will be wine and food and music… a little calypso maybe, some steel drums. There will be dancing. The pirate sets his cane aside and takes one of the girls in his arms (it will be the doe-eyed brunette currently leading the group up the hill if he knows what's good for him) and dances her out onto the patio, swaying to the music, pitching a little woo into her shell-like ear, the soft words she pretends to disdain but can't resist…

No doubt there will be a few more attractive men to even things out a bit, though of course it may be that a couple of the girls will pair off as well… One of the girls will sit and think of the boy she left at home, her friend chides her; she's in another country now, it doesn't count, if you're not with the one you love, love the one you're with. _Carpe diem. _Cause tomorrow you could be dead, she says cheerfully. One of the guys in the band is giving her the eye. He's cute. Will she, won't she? If she does, how far will she go? Too far? The suspense mounts.

The pirate's wiry friend will flit from girl to girl dancing gracefully, leaving each with a cryptic smile, one girl is determined to discover his dark secret, the source of the sadness behind his laughing eyes.

The older gent finds a smoky-voiced lady of his own age at the bar, there is banter, there is repartee, a few lines stolen from Oscar Wilde, witty commentary on the youthful melodrama being played out before them. Comedy, at last. Later they will go upstairs and prove that while experience is no substitute for youth it has its compensations… temporarily sated they stand arm in arm at the window looking out over the moonlit sea and ….. say something wise and true, yet terribly amusing. I don't know what just yet, no doubt it will come to me in the moment.

Lovely, huh? Sweet, romantic, non-violent. Not even any cussing, perhaps just the odd risque _bon mot _or two. Just a sweet diverting scene to take you away, if only for a little while, from the gray cubicle, the spreadsheet…. Or the colicky baby, or simply a dull Sunday afternoon.

Sorry, can't do it.

Bored now.

Besides there was so much I had to leave out. The weapons, for one thing. I left out the part about the weapons. We're back out on that hill, you understand, with the sweat and the heaving bosoms. And the swords. The brunette in the lead with the big broadsword, one of the girls twirling a pair of chinese butterfly swords, there are girls with katanas with matching tantos, one girl sports a double-headed axe. The men are armed as well, the pirate has a heavy staff that doubles as cudgel and cane, he has a machete dangling from his belt and a battered but reliable AK assault rifle dangling on his shoulder. The wiry man has a machete as well and a sawed off shotgun, and a sack that you can't tell by looking but I happen to know is full of grenades. The older man sports an evil insectoid looking Uzi submachinegun and a slim straight sword of his own.

Still cool though, right? A little swashbuckling, rugged manly men and babes with blades. Can't go wrong there.

Except there is the mud. I left out the mud. In fact I lied a bit, about the brightly colored halter tops. Well, not lied exactly. It's true, the halter-tops _are_ brightly colored, it's just that you can't tell anymore. Because of the mud. The slick, slippery yet sticky clinging black mud that is everywhere.

And the blood, of course. Lots of blood. Not a sword that isn't covered in it. Not a pretty girl that isn't bathed in it. And this blood, some of it is well, and I mean _well_ beyond its sell by date.

I also left out the cigars. Now I dearly love a good cigar, (even if for reasons of wealth (lack of) and health (knock wood) I limit my consumption severely) nevertheless, I do understand that in a romantic comedy the cigar is not really the accessory of choice for the young ladies depicted therein, the occasional suggestive cameo excepted.

Nevertheless, I have to report that all the young ladies were smoking long thin cigars. And not suggestively, either. In point of fact, they were all puffing away like the little engine that could. It was probably because of the stench.

I didn't mention the stench yet, did I? … No, didn't think so. There was a stench like two sacks of fish and three sacks of potatoes left to rot in the neglected greasetrap of an abattoir built between a badly drained pig farm and a dog food factory, on a hot day in a warm wet climate. It was a stench like a punch in the face.

It was probably because of all the body parts. Some of the parts had been on the side of the hill for quite some time, but a lot of them had come to rest there recently. A lot of the parts _were _"parts" because of the swords' recent activity. Some parts were actually more "wholes," so to speak, still moving about quite actively and even fighting back … even as they leaked stinking pus and gore with every awkward though powerful punch and kick. They were strong, but not good fighters, clumsy and disorganized … but still their sheer numbers meant that the girls' progress up the hill while steady was a slow slog through the mud and the blood and the entrails. And the arms and the legs and the brains and the hearts and lungs and of course the maggots and the flies…. Well, you get the picture. It was foul.

Speaking of foul… though there were still the occasional shouts of warning and encouragement amidst the squawking fights between the overfed vultures, on the whole the girls' usual bright chatter had diminished to a grim silence. But there was one steady voice droning on. It belonged to the girl in the Daisy Dukes who, when not coated in blood and mud, sported a usefully if deceptively angelic face wreathed in blonde curls that made old women weep and young men vow to go forth and be …_ better_ somehow. She was repeating a mantra that seemed to help her endure the ambiance philosophically and I quote,

"Fucking zombies suck," _slash, _"I hate fucking zombies," _slash _"motherfucking zombies" _slice_ "what I fucking hate are mothergoddamnfucking" _slash _"shiteating fuckity fucking fuck" _slice _"fucking zombie fuckers are fucking what I fucking hate." _Slash. _

What she lacked in originality and diversity she made up in fervor and persistence.

There was in fact a rather nice mansion at the top of the hill, once the family home of a wealthy plantation owner. French colonial in style, of course, and suitable for postcards it even overlooked a cliff (well, really steep slope) that dropped some hundred feet into an inlet of the Caribbean sea. It could easily have been transformed into a lovely resort lodge. It had not been.

Instead it was, and had been for living memory, the stronghold of the Guédé family of zombie masters, ruled, again for a long as any man alive and many dead could remember, by three brothers, self-proclaimed aristocrats, the Barons _Samedi, La Croix, Cimetière). _

Not Club Med, but that didn't mean it wasn't a partying kind of place, the nights there, so rumour has it anyway, were often full of food and strong spirits, music and dance, muscled young men pounding drums, sinewy girls in veils and little else performing elaborate traditional seductions for their lords and masters, all in the warmly glowing light of flickering torches. So, not wholly bereft of romance.

At the moment, sadly, not so much with the dancing girls and more with the small arms fire from the encircling verandah and the balcony above. This was the cue for the pirate and his Uzi bearing companion to unsling their own weapons and take turns returning fire. Six of the girls began to move quickly, zigging and zagging with startling speed though the thinning ranks of zombies, while two of the girls fell back to act as human mortars, displaying throwing arms to make Roberto Clemente weep with envy, with the grenades the third man supplied from his sack.

Under cover of the grenade barrage the six leading girls sprinted across the rolled lawn and leapt the railing and engaged the confused and retreating defenders. The remaining two girls took up their swords again and ran forward, cutting a pathway for their men to follow after as they joined the battle for the mansion. Behind them the remnant of the zombie horde that could still move turned and began to close ranks behind them.

Initially the girls found little resistance in the house. The guards, live men, able to think for themselves, were mostly thinking _"Ohshitohshitohshit!" _

The barons' rule had been long and harsh, what resistance there was had long since voted with their feet to resist by leaving the Barons' domain and not returning. The guards had won their positions through feats of daring sycophancy rather than valorous battle, they were more used to throwing whimpering victims into the snake pit than standing firm as screaming she-devils covered in mud and gore came rocketing down the smoke-filled halls like little typhoons of sharp steel.

Besides, it wasn't as if this attack was unexpected, they had heard first the vague rumors, then the more detailed reports of some mysterious force that was methodically destroying the Barons' minions and representatives, starting in the capitol and working upwards until now…. They had heard their masters arguing, heard the anger in their voices, and lately, the fear.

It was not an automatic decision. After all, the barons were not simply bosses, they were Gods, Spirits. Rulers of the dead. The guards had all seen, an unlucky few had even felt their masters' power, knew they could kill with a wave of their hand. Fearful obedience was a hard habit to break. But their masters were out of sight, cowering behind the thick doors of the inner sanctum leaving the guards out in the hall with the she-devils that had cut though the ranks of despised but fearsome zombies like hot knives through rancid butter.

Proximity is nine tenths of belief.

The guards ran.

The girls grew careless, Jun Lee, a slim girl of Chinese descent failed to notice a guard who had caught a bit of shrapnel during the grenade attack and was hiding behind an overturned table. Fortunately the zombie-hating blonde, aka Renee, saw the movement as the guard raised his gun, and slung her katana into his throat with one hand as she pushed Jun Lee aside with the other so instead taking a back full of lead Jun only caught a single round in the right buttock. And therefore soon found herself, to her utter mortification, laying on her stomach in one of the bedrooms as the one-eyed man carefully peeled her pants down.

Like most of the girls, living as they had in close quarters for the last two months, Jun had had the occasional idle fantasy (Faith had made it quite clear how very damn idle those fantasies had better be, but a girl couldn't help thinking thoughts) of Xander Harris undressing her. Her fantasies had never been quite like this. The tiny prick in her ass as Xander inserted the needle and gave her a shot had never been part of them, for one thing.

She moaned as he probed then cleaned the wound, the painkiller not quite kicking in yet. "I don't suppose this could be our little secret, Xan," she pleaded, "The girl that got shot in the ass. I'll never hear the end of it." She paused. "I can't believe I just said that."

"Well, _I _won't tell, but it was Renee that saved your … life, so I think you better be prepared for word to get around. Serves you right for being careless," he said. He gently pressed an adhesive bandage over the wound, then gave her a quick, much less gentle swat on the intact cheek and pulled her pants back up.

"Hey!" she shrieked. "I'm telling Faith."

"I tell her how you almost got yourself killed on her watch and she'll spank you a lot harder, "Xander replied. He sat down on the bed beside her, brushed her hair away from her eyes, laid his hand gently on her shoulder, spoke softly,

"You done good, kiddo. You go lay on the beach, let that slayer healing do its thing. I'll see you in a couple weeks, we'll have a talk."

"No, Xander, please, I'm fine," she started to get up, but he pushed her down.

"Shut up," he explained, and flipped open a blue cell phone, punched a single button, "Hey, Will," he said, "got one for you. Bullet in the …. leg. No bones broken. Nothing serious but it's nasty here, need to be double careful about infections…You got a fix on her? Okay then, I'm stepping back. And Will, put your nose plugs in. Seriously."

And Jun Lee vanished.

Xander left the impromptu surgery, moved down the hall and found Faith hovering over Andre who was pushing plastic explosive into the cracks around a huge oaken door. The wood paneling on either side of the door and been ripped away to reveal a smooth silvery metal. The splintered remains of a number of heavy table legs testified to Faith's attempt to breach the portal the old fashioned way. Her eyes, the aforementioned doe-like orbs, immediately sought his,

"She's fine," he said quickly, "more embarrassed than injured," and she nodded quickly, the relief flooding her face for a second before it was thrust away and she was all business again.

"We ready to do this thing, Andy?"

"Five by five, Faith," the man said, flashing the bright smile, and Faith began barking orders at the girls gathering in the hall, setting the battle order for when the door blew. Xander pulled her aside, spoke urgently, she stepped back and looked at him a moment, then shrugged in acquiescence and began shouting orders again.

The foundations shook with the blast, the ancient wooden door erupted in a shower of burning splinters and the girls herded a half dozen reluctant zombies ahead of them through the opening which turned out to be a good thing indeed as the undead creatures took the brunt of a series of strange energy blasts that left smoking wounds in the walking corpses.

"Fuck," Faith shouted, they've got Skorch demons or lasers or some shit, hit'em Andre!"

The short man stepped forward and with a quick side-arm delivered his last three grenades, immediately after the blasts Xander and the tall man, Jean-Luc, darted forward and sprayed the room with bullets and then the girls went in.

Faith led the charge, diving and rolling and coming up swinging the broadsword in sweeping arcs as she assessed the sitch. The front ranks of the final defenders had been hurt badly, bodies were strewn left and right, but these guys were made of sterner stuff than the guards outside, they wore body armor despite the heat, they had markings on their foreheads… always a sign of fanaticism of one kind or another, these guys were fighting to the end.

One lunged forward to swing a club at her, she stepped back to easily avoid the blow, then, just in time, a bit of slayer instinct kicked in and she threw herself aside, her body realizing before her brain did that the man had had not been attempting to strike her, but had been _aiming…_ She felt the heat of the weapon's discharge scorch her back, she rolled and came up with a shuriken in hand and flung it, the razor sharp blades of the steel star slicing into the man's eyes, he screamed and dropped his weapon, Faith followed with quick stab to the heart to put him out of his misery, the metal of his breastplate might have repelled a normal human's blow but it offered scant resistance to the force of a slayer's thrust. And then she was moving on, sensing the Somali girl, Shad, coming up beside her they went into the inner inner sanctum where two of the three Barons waited, regal in their top hats and formal coats, their bodies painted, their faces covered in masks resembling skulls, with wide holes for their eyes which were now literally flashing with anger, the glow providing an eerie backlight illumination to the masks.

"Freaky deaky," Faith said and moved forward.

The taller of the two demons was yelling at her, in French so Faith didn't get the words, but she got the "How dare you disturb my mighty mightiness with your puny puniness," message and she grinned.

"Last chance to beg for mercy, gents," she said. She figured they understood her gist as well. One of the demons raised his hand and there was a flash and Faith did a total face-plant.

She had a moment of terror, for a few seconds she lost all motor control, she was limp like a discarded rag, unable to so much as roll an eye. And then with a wave of tingling pain like a bad whack on the funny bone she felt her central nervous system reboot and her strength come flooding back, she peeked upward and saw the demon had turned away, clearly assuming she was done for, she saw now he had some device in the palm of his hand and he was tracking toward Shad who was stalking the other baron.

Faith grabbed her fallen sword, came to her feet in catlike silence, swung and took the arm with the hand device off at the elbow. The demon screeched and turned to stare at her, the glowing eyes eloquent with enraged surprise, then suddenly the glow was gone, and the rage, leaving only two normal looking brown eyes filled with puzzled terror and then she took his head.

She turned and saw that Shad had delivered an equally fatal blow to her opponent.  
Slowly silence began to descend on the house.

"Sound off," Faith barked and counted off six replies from the girls then… then Xander was shouting,

"Faith, the body, Faith!" she glanced over and saw him coming through the doorway, pointing … she looked down and saw a snake… well, snakelike creature emerging from the bloody neck stem of the corpse at her feet, it wriggled free and seemed to peer around and gather itself … and it leapt at her, wrapping quickly around her leg and swarming upwards, she grabbed it once and lost it as, slick with blood, it squirmed free, she felt it moving across her back, felt a pinch at the back of her neck and then Xander slammed into her and bounced back but he was holding the thing in his hands now, his face a mask of pure disgust as he fought to hold it as writhed and hissed. Faith grabbed the thing and squeezed _hard_ and felt bones crunch beneath her fingers, she ripped it from his grip and threw it against the wall where it hit with a sickening splat before slowly beginning to slide down, trailing a viscous fluid like a snail. Faith took a couple steps, impaled the thing on the end of her sword and held up to get a better look.

"Hey Xan," she started but glancing back she saw his gaze fixed on the body, "What?"

He glanced up, "I hate to say this," he said, "but maybe we better make sure there aren't more."

She scraped the snakething off her blade, poked it a couple times, it seemed dead enough but just in case she staked it to the floor, stood and used her sword to rip the headless body open from the crotch up but found only the usual entrails. They moved on to the second body, Shad insisted on doing the honors for her kill … the snake was there, caught in the act of attempting to exit the body through the mouth but squirming weakly, apparently the force of Shad's killing blow, a spinning kick that had crushed the sternum into the spine followed by an instinctive if probably unnecessary chop to the back of the neck had damaged the snake as well. Shad finished the job with a quick stab with her katana, the thing writhed, hissed a moment and went still.

"Now _that_ is wicked gross," Faith declared.

"I think we better find the third baron," Xander said.

They found him quickly enough, or his body, anyway, in the room where the dancing girls were comfortably caged. He had apparently tried to hide amongst them, possibly thinking of nights spent safe in their embrace and a little confused by the subtle differences between fear and love. He had been gibbering in what sounded like some archaic variation of Creole and seemed befuddled, even lost, the girls said. The girls had set him straight. They had apparently performed the Dance of the Seven Swift Kicks to the Head, and then went on for an encore or two. A rough autopsy of the battered body revealed no snake, which concerned Xander a bit, he warned the girls to remain alert and stay in pairs. In the meantime there were details to attend to, other servants to free, a few surrendering guards to disarm and so on.

"Maybe he didn't have one," Faith said, "maybe that's why he ran and hid."

"Maybe. Reminds me of this thing we had in Sunnydale once, before your time. A beezer or something like that. Had these uber-disgusting crab things that hid in eggs then glommed onto your back and took over your body. I'm not sure why exactly, but it seemed to involve me getting hit over the head a lot, so I'm pretty much anti-beezer in my outlook."

"Poor baby," Faith said.

"Oh well," Xander said. "At least it'll make Giles happy. Weird snake demons and funky weapons, some actual research to do. Give him an excuse to dump his paperwork on Toby."

"Shit, he's the boss, who's he got to make excuses to?" Faith said.

"To himself. It's Giles, remember."

"Yeah. Okay, I'm ready. "

Xander held the third baron's head by the hair, stretching the neck tight. Faith swung her sword and cleaved the neck cleanly. They found some broken balcony railing to use as pikes and impaled each of the three heads and went out across the lawn strewn with the suppurating remains of the zombie army that had dropped in its tracks when its masters died. They mounted the heads on the fence for the locals to see in the morning."

You know what'd be cool," Faith said. "If we could just call in an airstrike. Like at the end of _'Apocalypse Now', _just blow this whole place off the fucking map."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time," Xander said. "If we can find a nice used B52 for sale cheap somewhere. Maybe a rental." He sighed. They stood a moment. The sun was almost down now, there was still a red glow over the field but the tropical night was coming fast. "Well," he said, "I guess we should go help the girls stack the corpses."

He turned and started back toward the house and there was a sad wet farting sound, he stood still and stared fixedly upwards.

"I don't want to know what I just stepped in, do I?" he said.

"Well, I'm for damn sure not looking," Faith said. She took his arm. "Jeez Xan," she said, "I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

They started walking off into, if one is observing from the correct angle, the blood red and orange hues of the sunset, Xander pausing with every other step to give his right foot a good shake.

**-30-**

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You see how it is? I start out with a bunch of pretty girls taking a walk on a tropical island and end up mounting heads on pikes. I mean, is that sick, or what?

Personally, I blame television.

**Next: Chapter 1: Close Encounters**

**A/N: **I, or rather certain snake-resembling creatures, are of course playing fast and loose with the vodoun pantheon, Barons Samedi, La Croix, and Cimetière, for example, being different names for the same entity.


	2. Chapter 1: Close Encounter

**Chapter 1: Close Encounter**

**A/N:  
Disclaimer:** **_Buffy_** and company belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. _**Stargate SG-1** _belongs to Brad Wright and Jonathan Glassner. _**Alias** _characters belong to JJ Abrams. And not me.

**Warnings:** Violence, strong language, lust. I mean, you read the prologue _first, _right? Although that was probably the max point for the gore factor. Probably.

**TIMELINES: **

**FATHER GOOSE VERSE**: Chronologically this is the third story, following _Loyalties, _before _Viva Los Xanders. _See my profile page for timeline. Not necessary to read the first two to understand this one, but there will be a few references to past events, and infrastructure established in the earlier stories will be presented with minimal explanation.

**BTVS**: Post _Chosen, Not Fade Away; _canon as broadcast, subsequent novels, comics, etc by Mr. Whedon et al cordially ignored.  
The Hellmouth is in Cleveland, Giles runs the Council from London, Willow's calling all slayers spell remains in effect. Angel, Wesley, Spike and Gunn are dead, Illyria is AWOL.

**STARGATE SG1**: My view of the characters has been formed as much or more by the excellent FF stories I've read as by the show. In fact it's only because of those stories (and my cable company recently adding the Sci-fi channel) that I've taken an interest in the series. I'm catching up, but I must admit that my grasp of the details of Stargate continuity is often secondhand and a bit shaky. Corrections welcome. Without tying it to any specific events I'd place this story somewhere in late season four. In terms of actual years, the entire series is simply shifted forward to accommodate the BTVS/Father Goose timeline.

The Goa'uld appearing here may be a bit AU, but I don't think they will run contrary to canon (given the existence of Seth,) simply out of the mainstream.

If you're not familiar with Stargate SG1 the wikipedia entry has a reasonably succinct summary.

**ALIAS: **probably only making cameo appearances, Alias characters are AU post mid-season three. Syd and Jack and Agent Weiss are no longer with the CIA, Irina accepted Faith's offer. For details see _Loyalties._

Finally, a word to the wise, research is fun, but also a black hole that can suck up limited writing time so... So, while corrections are appreciated and will be made to the text when feasible, I wouldn't, if I were you, base your dissertation on my descriptions of, for example, Voodoo ritual, or the nuts and bolts of MMORPG's.

Nuff said?

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**Secrets: A Father Goose Tale**

**A BTVS-SG1 Crossover**

**Chapter 1: Close Encounter**

**Colorado, October 2007**

"Everyone okay?" Colonel Jack O'Neill asked.

"Yes, sir, fine, sir," the (almost) always proper and correct Major Samantha Carter replied. Jack thought he saw the ghost of smile slowly replacing her initial surprise. I knew I should have made her drive, he thought.

He checked the back seat. Daniel Jackson was blinking and rubbing his eyes, he'd probably slept through the whole thing and only been woken by the cessation of movement. Jack decide to take his befuddled,

"Whuh?" as a 'fine.' He looked to Teal'c.

"I am uninjured, O'Neill," the Jaffa replied. "I am unsure of the purpose of the maneuver, but it was indeed an interesting experience." Jack stared at him. Joking. Had to be. You'd think by now he'd be able to tell. Had to be joking. Jack faced forward, let his head sink down onto the steering wheel. This was going to be embarrassing, he could already hear the "SG1 can cross galaxies but not their back yards" jokes.

_"So, didja hear about Search and Rescue saving SG1 again?" _

"Goa'uld in Abydos?"

"No, cold in Colorado." Hurhurhur.

Jack sighed. He sat back and zipped his bomber jacket up to his neck, found gloves in the pockets, pushed the door open and clambered out of the SUV. The wind bit at his exposed skin and flecks of snow began to make their way down the back of his neck. He took a couple steps back and surveyed the situation. He walked back and forth a little, checking the rear and front, bending down and peering at the snow packed in the undercarriage. He came to the same conclusion he'd come to sitting in the nice warm seat. They were screwed.

Well, it was always the little things. In this case a little bit of black ice, had to be. Yeah, he should have paid a little more attention to the weather reports, yeah it was a little early for a nice high plains blizzard, but not unheard of. But he was handling it, they were going to beat the worst of the storm, be home in time to enjoy the whole being inside where it's warm and toasty while the storm rages outside thing. And then a little bit of black ice and a quick 360 spin and here they were off the road and stuck in a snowbank. Off the road and down a little bit of slope and leaning, only the snow keeping the SUV from tipping. They could dig a bit, but even with Teal'c pushing…. No way. Screwed.

He opened the door and climbed back inside. "We're screwed," he said.

Without much hope, he shifted back into a low gear and, mostly for the form of it, spun the tires a couple times. Yep. Stuck.

He pulled out his cell phone and sat thinking about who to call, the Mountain or 911. The SUV was official Air Force transport he'd requisitioned on grounds that anywhere Teal'c went was official Air Force business. Hey, it had worked for the Avalanche games. It wasn't as if calling 911 would save him any grief. All emergency traffic was monitored. Somehow the word would filter down that Colonel O'Neill had called for a tow truck. Probably the most highly security conscious, classifed-out-the- wazoo base in the country, but nothing stopped a bit of good gossip. The worst part, the whole base would find out that SG1 had spent the weekend at the Durango Cowboy Gathering. Just because some idiot had convinced Teal'c that _Star Wars _movies and Avalanche games weren't the be'all and end'all of Earth culture and some other sadistic bastard had slipped a flier under his door. Only natural that Teal'c would find some kinship in the image of the lone cowboy, standing tall with his six gun and his pride. Impossible to explain that they wouldn't really be meeting anyone out of a John Ford movie there.

Oh well, it had been worth it to hear Daniel trying to explain the nuances of Cowboy poetry to the Jaffa warrior. _("I do not understand, DanielJackson. How is it that he can offer hay for sale at five dollars a bale when he has no hay to sell?") _And hell, the food had been good and the beer had been good and Carter had even managed to shut her laptop off for a little while and come out to dinner and a show, in civvies even, her face changed so much when she relaxed, smiled, laughed… whoa now, better abort those thoughts pronto, buckaroo… But still, the company had been good. It had been a good time, really, it just didn't do much for a guy's rough and ready reputation. A glance at his phone told him the who-to-call decision was moot without a signal. Of course. He was just reaching to try the two-way radio when Teal'c spoke.

"Someone has stopped."

Maybe somebody with a hefty 4 x 4 and big fat tires, or failing that a state trooper, with the storm the highway patrol would be out in force, he thought hopefully. He used his sleeve to wipe the condensation off his window and found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes framed by rosy cheeks and long waves of white-blonde hair. Not, Jack suspected, a trooper. The girl appeared to be in her late teens, she was wearing an unzipped, fairly light blue coat and seemed wholly indifferent to the cold. He rolled his window down about halfway.

"Hi there," he said.

"Hello," the girl answered, her voiced tinged with an accent Jack could imprecisely place as Scandinavian. She turned and called back over her shoulder, "They're cute. Can we keep them?"

Looking past her shoulder Jack was disappointed to see a rather small, older model sedan …. damn, he thought suddenly, that's an old Jaguar, isn't it? Cool. But not really the ideal vehicle under the circumstances. And then he wasn't looking at the car anymore as a brunette emerged. A brunette, as the fellow said, to make a bishop kick down a stained glass window. She was all in black, motorcycle boots and leathers, the jacket swinging open to reveal a well-filled tight black tank top underneath, amply visible skin glowed with a deep tan very much out of place in the snow. She seemed as indifferent to the cold as the angelic blonde. Interesting pair, Jack thought.

The brunette stalked, no other word for it, up to the window, her eyes roving quickly, pausing a moment to stare at Teal'c, then shrugging slightly,

"So, soldierboy, you got a chain in the back there?" she said.

"Soldierboy?" Jack said.

"General, flyboy, whatever. You got a chain or not?"

"I'm sure we do and I appreciate the thought. But I think we're a in a little too deep for your car to help much." The brunette stared at him a moment, then shrugged.

"Suit yourself. You got somebody you want us to call when we hit civilization?"

"Faith," the blonde protested, "we can't just leave them here."

"Hey, cupcake, I promise, there's lots of cute guys in Denver, you don't have to pick up strays along the way."

"Faith."

"Yeesh." The brunette reached out to cup the blonde's chin in one hand and present the girl's smiling face to Jack, "So, sergeant," she said, "you gonna say no to that face? Whip it out."

"What?"

"The chain, private. Let's have it. This storm's gettin' worse before it gets better and I got places to be."

Jack turned and stole a glance at Carter. She wasn't laughing. It was costing her, but she wasn't. She _was _grinning. He opened the door and clambered out and turned back,

"Well, don't just sit there Carter," he said, "Get the lady her chain."

With the snow blocking her door, Carter had to slide over and climb out as Jack held the door open for her. For a moment he thought he heard her say,

"Yes, sir, _private, _sir," as she passed him but decided it must have been the wind.

In the end of course it was Teal'c who insisted on, under Carter's guidance, retrieving the chain from the well in the back. As that was going on Jack watched two more people emerge from the Jag. These two clearly did not share their companions' indifference to the cold. They were both wearing oversized parkas clearly supplemented by several layers of clothing underneath. The smaller of the two revealed about three square inches of_ café au lait_ complexion and bright red lipstick so Jack assumed it was a she despite the shapeless figure. The larger of the two was revealing even less skin, in fact he had the fur-lined hood of his coat pulled so tight over his face all Jack could see was a single eye peering out of the darkness. He walked with a limp and had a cane, Jack noted with interest that after slipping once on the freezing snow he gave the silver handle a twist and nasty looking blade slid out of the end and he didn't slip anymore.

The cold man spoke to the brunette, "What's the sitch?"

"Miss Sweetness and Light here insists we pull these poor lost lambs out of the snow." She paused and stared at him and shook her head. "Geez, Xan," she added, "it ain't that cold."

"Yes, it is," he answered. "California boy here. Cold cold cold," his voice emerging hollowly from the depths of his coat.

"Oh come on, it sharpens you up. Haven't seen a good snow in years," she pushed out her chest and posed for the cold man, "Besides, don't you like the way it makes my nips hard?" Jack heard Daniel snort behind him.

"I can think of better ways," the hollow voice replied.

But the brunette had lost her leering grin and had turned cat-like again, watching Teal'c as he finished attaching the chain to the SUV. Jack found his eyes roving over her again, this time looking for weapons. Living in a military town as he did Jack was quite familiar with the genus Tough Biker Chick, but there was something….. more about this girl. If they'd met her on another planet he would have kept the P-90 handy whenever she .… but this wasn't another planet and he was being paranoid. As for her intense interest in Teal'c, she wouldn't be the first woman to find the alien attractive…

Of course there was also the hat factor. Teal'c in his new black felt, ten gallon hat, with which he was quite enamored, was very much the striking figure.

Teal'c brought the other end of the chain past them toward the car, stopping as he came to the end.

"Marisol," the cold man said, and the cold girl eagerly ran for the driver's door. "Carefully!" the man called after her, with a certain resignation in his voice as the car revved. But the Jag crawled slowly backwards until the man waved for her to stop. Teal'c knelt and after searching a little, found a place to secure the chain. He stood and turned to Jack.

"I am concerned, O'Neill," he started, "I believe that we may damage…."

"So maybe you better push too, big guy," the brunette said taking the startled Jaffa's arm and dragging him toward the back of the SUV. "You too, Admiral. That means you're drivin', blondie," she said to Carter, giving her a not too gentle shove toward the SUV. Carter was too surprised to do anything but gape and stumble toward the drivers' door, and finally it was Jack's turn to grin.

The brunette lined them up behind the SUV, Jack and Teal'c in the center, herself and the slim blonde on the corners, she waved at the cold man who waved for the Jag to take up the slack in the chain. The cold man waved his hand again, a meaningless gesture to Jack's eyes but he noted that the brunette clearly understood, those two, Jack thought, are used to working together in silence.

"On three," the brunette said and counted, and on three, to Jack's amazement, the SUV began to move forward and almost before he knew it the big vehicle was back up on the highway and the cold man was waving for the car to stop and back up to release the chain.

Jack looked at Teal'c. He knew the man was strong but…. No. Not that strong.

Maybe the Jag had been rebuilt with a seriously heavy duty chassis and engine….

Maybe the SUV just hadn't been near as stuck as he'd thought it was….

Except bullshit to all of that. But what the hell? He watched as Daniel went forward to gather up the chain, he watched the brunette conferring with the cold man, jerking her head back toward Teal'c who was thanking the blonde girl, who was in turn giving him a lecture on the dangers of not taking blizzards seriously. Then the cold man was limping toward Jack, drawing him a little ways back up the road, standing hunched against the wind and stomping his feet,

"Hey," he said, "Don't mean to get in your business, but the black guy… you know him, right? You didn't pick him up hitch-hiking or anything did you?"

"Why?" Jack asked, staring at the man, still only able to see the single eye peering out of his hood. The man shrugged.

"My friend," he said, "she's a big fan of America's Most Wanted, that's her dream, to spot somebody from the show. Anyhow, she thinks your friend there looks like this guy who was some kind of armed robber or something….. but if you know him…. " he trailed off.

"Yeah," Jack said after a minute, "we know him."

"Well, okay then. Drive safe."

And then they were all back in the SUV, watching the Jag's taillights slowly disappear in the blowing snow.

Teal'c spoke first. "That was a most unusual experience."

"Ya think?" Jack couldn't help but reply.

"Their vehicle must be made of an unusually strong alloy," Teal'c added. "I am relieved we did not damage it. They were most kind."

"I don't see how we could have, Teal'c," Carter said. "I was watching. The chain never really went tight. We weren't pulled out, we were pushed."

They rode in silence for awhile.

"Did you get a license plate?" Jack asked. Carter held up a small notebook. "Make a note, on Monday, we need to have someone get copies of all the episodes of America's Most Wanted broadcast in the last six months. Have one of your gofers watch them, I want to know if any one of the episodes has a fugitive that looks like Teal'c." He was pretty sure they wouldn't. "T, did they ask you any strange questions?"

"Not strange, O'Neill. The dark haired, dominant one asked me where I was from. I said Mozambique. I do not think she believed me, but she did not question me further."

"Faith," Jack said. "The blonde called her 'Faith.' And she called the guy …sounded like _Xan, _though I guess it could have been _Stan _or _Dan. _And the other girl was _Marisol. _Anyone get a name for the blonde?"

"No," Carter said after glancing around. "Faith, her leathers were genuine high end road worthy stuff, bit of natural wear and tear. There were shifter marks on her boot, so we know she rides….."

"Wait a minute," Daniel said. "We're going to investigate them? Because they pushed us out of a snowbank?"

"Well, you know what they say, Daniel," Jack said. "No good deed goes unpunished. "

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Xander set the map aside, pushed himself forward to lean over the front seat, stared a moment past the hardworking wiper blades out at the blowing snow and spoke to the blonde girl driving,

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Sassa, take this next exit, should be one forty, should put us on Colorado Springs' motel row."

"Ah hell, Xan," Faith grumped, fumbling with the map, "there's only another sixty miles…"

"And that's over two hours at this rate and we don't really need to hit Denver in the middle of a snowstorm. C'mon, pizza, HBO, brown carpet and tiny shampoo bottles. What's not to love?"

"Whatever, still think we should have 'ported," Faith muttered, turning to stare out the ice-rimed window.

Xander sighed and let his head sink down onto the front seat. Marisol flashed him a shy, sympathetic smile and he mustered the strength to give her a wink and a smile back. He was beginning to think they should have teleported as well. They had three jumps left on the 'porter Will had given them and of course Will or Thiago could add more. But he knew that even though Will made it look easy, it was serious magic and not without cost. Better to save it for when they needed it.

Besides, Sassa was from Sweden, Marisol from Guatemala and he'd thought it would be nice for them to see a bit of the country before taking up their posts in Denver. Hell, he'd wanted to see some of the sights himself, with all his traveling he'd missed a good part of the US, weird to think he knew some parts of Africa better than his own country. And they'd chanced on the cool car … well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

And hell, it had been. Even Faith had been into it at first, booming down the back roads with the music blasting, the two girls who were still young enough to think being allowed to do most of the driving was the coolest thing ever so Xander and Faith could lounge in the back and play lover's games.

But the girls _were_ young, eager, both away from their parents for the first time and alive with excitement. Sassa absolutely incessant in her cheery chatter, Marisol wide-eyed and full of questions, both qualities which got on Faith's nerves after awhile in the close confines of the car. Plus the girls' taste in music … made Xander feel old. He took Faith's side in those battles and had to put up with the resultant, albeit intermittent, pouting for hours afterward.

They'd stopped to pay a courtesy call on some of Will's contacts in Sedona, awestruck wiccans whose excess hospitality soon grew wearing, plus they'd practically had to drag the girls kicking and screaming out of the artsy-fartsy shops. Then Sassa had fallen in love with Santa Fe, insisting on visiting every gallery in the square, darting off down this little alley, then the next until Faith was threatening to put a leash on her. Xander would try to move them on and they would give him the big eyes and the "But we won't be able to come back for like, ever," and he would weaken, to Faith's irritation.

Weaken, but not give in, not totally. And hell, if it hadn't been for the storm he would have had it timed just about right. They would have arrived tired, ready for a change but still with mostly happy memories of the trip. But the last few hours poking along as the snow thickened was pushing the growing tensions toward a breaking point. Probably should have stopped in Pueblo but he had still had hopes of reaching the end before things broke… but the storm had really caught up with them now, they would just have to survive one more night together.

A lot of other people had been wise enough to get off the road, and smart enough to do it sooner, the first two places they stopped were full, the third only had one room free, Xander sighed but grabbed it. At least it had two beds.

The pizza places he called couldn't promise delivery anytime soon, if at all, but there were several restaurants in walking distance. He bundled himself back up and took the protesting girls with him, leaving Faith to have the room to herself for awhile.

They found a Chinese place that looked good and Xander placed a big takeout order and while they were waiting Sassa decided now was the time to get weepy and ask Xander why Faith hated her.

"Oh sweetie, she doesn't hate you," he'd semi-lied, "she's just not much of tourist…."

"She hates me," Sassa replied.

But after twenty some minutes of intense, slightly exhausting heart to heart he managed to talk her around or at least had her dry-eyed. By an odd coincidence the food was ready and they gathered up their packages, added handfuls of mustard and soy sauce packs and chopsticks, Xander and Marisol tightened their hoods and they went back out into the wind.

As was the way of it, HBO had had a pretty good movie on the night before, and another one the next night, but tonight, bupkis. Faith announced she didn't give a shit so Xander handed the remote over to Marisol, and concentrated on running the tiny microwave and distributing the warmed food, biting back his irritation as Princess Faith sprawled on the bed and grudgingly accepted the twice-cooked pork and the crab puffs he brought her. He went down to the vending machine for sodas and came back to find Faith in a predatory pose, watching Sassa carefully separating the components of her beef and broccoli.

"Kid," Faith said, "If you don't like broccoli how come you ordered it?"

"I like broccoli," Sassa answered, "I just like to eat it separately." She began making a new pile for the onions.

Xander sighed, bundled up again and pulled his coat on, picked up Faith's jacket and tossed it to her.

"What?" she said.

"C'mon," he said. "Let's go kill something."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Staff Sgt. Martin Dahlgren, (deceased), lingered in the lea of a building. The cold, of course, didn't bother him anymore, but the wind still irritated. So why stay here, out on the high plains where the wind was endless, he often wondered. Because it was home, he always answered himself. There were a couple bars that weren't too big on mirrors he could go to, drink a few beers, shoot some pool. He could wear the uniform, the regulars called him Sarge, he knew the magic words to use if anyone started get nosy about how come they'd never seen him on the base. He just had to say he worked on Deep Space Radar Telemetry, whatever the hell that was, and they'd back off in a hurry.

He stayed because it was home, because there were a couple lady vamps who didn't mind if he came around without calling first. He stayed because he had all the time in the world and he'd move on when he felt like it.

But maybe the time had come. Rumor had it the damned council was setting up a slayer house in Denver, which would be no skin off Dahlgren's ass except a lot of Denver vamps were leaving town, at least for awhile. And a lot of them weren't going very far, figuring they'd hang out in his town until they got a clear sitrep, then they'd either go back or move on. Meanwhile, being transients not only were they taking the all the easy meals, they weren't being as careful as they could be. He'd already policed up a couple bodies that had been dumped too close to his lair for comfort, and damned near got himself dusted bitching out one FNG only to have four of his buddies come around the corner. In the summer when the mountains were full of tourists to snack on he would simply have gone camping for a month or so but now… Maybe it was time, go on a little trip at least, maybe down to New Orleans, see what cajun tasted like.

Just at the moment he was feeling a bit peckish but not really hungering. The storm was keeping the people indoors so he was thinking maybe he'd hit a motel, where the damned invite thing didn't get in the way. Or maybe he'd just say the hell with it and eat tomorrow.

Or maybe, he thought as he heard voices approaching, he'd just have dinner delivered. He clambered up the side of the building to crouch on the roof so he could watch the couple approach. He smiled, pleased. The woman was choice, young, hot. Nice leather jacket, too. Probably too small for him, but he knew a vampiress who would be pleased to have it. Get him a little easy gratitude. Maybe she'd even consider taking a little trip with him.

They were having a nice fight, too. Almost didn't need the vamp hearing to catch the show. Probably had witnesses at their motel, so when the girl goes missing the cops will already have a suspect. Very nice. Normally he didn't kill, simply taking a meal and leaving them weak but alive. But perhaps tonight he would indulge himself. Put the body in the right place and they wouldn't find her 'til spring. He listened.

"What the fuck do you want me to do, put them in the trunk?" the man shouted.

"Wouldn't kill them. I've been in worse places."

"Oh, don't even go there."

"Fine, just stop being such a fucking pushover!"

"They're just kids. I know, I know, so were we but that's the whole fucking point, isn't it? So they don't have to go through the shit we did. They can be kids, and have a little fun along the way."

"They just get on my fucking nerves, Xander can I have this, Xander I want that, Xander can we in eat in a _nice _restaurant… Xander can we stay in a _real _hotel..."

"So she has a little princess in her. She isn't the only one."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You don't think they aren't wearing me out too? You sitting in the corner making faces doesn't help any. I mean, you got somewhere to be I don't know about, cause what difference does an extra day in Santa Fe make…."

Dahlgren walked along the rooftops above them as the fight peaked and reached the expected finish.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Don't wait up!" The woman whirled and stomped away, picking up speed, moving too fast for the man who seemed to have a bad leg to follow, he tried for a little bit then threw his hands up, swung his cane viciously at an innocent bit of blowing paper. Dahlgren picked up his own pace and went after the girl, quickly reaching the end of the building he was on and looking down, expecting to find her leaning against the wall and crying her eyes out. But there was nobody there. He looked left, right, where the hell? No way she could get out of his sight that quickly, even with the blowing snow. He jumped down to the sidewalk and ran a little ways to the right, the way she'd been heading, moving at a pace that would easily catch her up. But nothing. Damn. He looked around. She must have ducked into one of the buildings somehow. He stopped and listened. Nothing but the wind. Crap. He'd have to make do with the guy. He went back.

_He_ was still in sight, no problem, a sad bulky figure hunched against the cold. He'd clearly stood and dithered and waited a bit before giving up and starting back the way they'd come.

Damn. He'd wanted the girl. Oh well, no point dicking around now. He clambered up the roof again, sprinted along until he was above the man, waited until he neared the end of the block and dropped lightly behind him, grabbed the hood of his coat and ripped it back to expose the man's neck and bit down hard…

And found his mouth full of …. wool. The fuck? He tried to pull back and found his fangs were caught in the fabric, he shook his head trying to get free but he was well stuck, he felt the man shift and twist then and felt a padded elbow slam into his sternum, the blow was not without force but far too cushioned to probably do much damage to a human, let alone a vampire. He reared back, again trying to free his fangs but managed instead to yank the man backwards and his foot slipped and they went down in a heap. Dahlgren fought the urge to laugh but, _fuck this, _he grabbed the man's shoulder and held him steady and pulled hard and this time he ripped through the cloth and came free, he rolled backwards and came to his feet. He retracted his fangs and stood trying to spit out the dry strands of wool that insisted on sticking to his tongue and inner cheeks.

Dahlgren looked up as his, temporarily belated, victim levered himself back to his feet and stood holding the cane in a ready position. Dahlgren stared a moment, something seemed off… Oh, yeah, guy was wearing an eyepatch, standing the way he was minimized the access to his blind side. Could be tough in a fight, Dahlgren thought, if I was playing fair, that is.

"Damn, buddy," Dahlgren said, "how many scarves are you wearing?" and was surprised when the guy smiled and answered,

"Three. It's cold out here, in case you didn't notice. You know, with the snow and the wind and all."

Dahlgren stepped forward, paused just out of reach of the guy's cane, then stepped forward again, going into vamp face as he did, figuring the guy would freeze at the sight just long enough …fuck. Guy didn't even blink, just suddenly sprouted a nasty blade on the end of his cane and lunged at him, going for the heart and damn that was close, hell, if the guy hadn't slipped just a little in the snow as he lunged he might have had him. As it was Dahlgren, vampire reflexes and all, was just able to deflect the blow, feeling the tip of the blade scrape his ribs as it passed. He grabbed the cane then, ripped it out of the man's hands, broke it in two and flung the pieces out into the night. He ducked a heavy punch and went in, this time pulling the damn scarves away from the man's pulsing neck. Fucker was still fighting, Dahlgren blocked a knee to the crotch, those years of hand-to-hand practice still coming in handy. He got a grip on the man's armpit and slammed him hard back against the wall, pinned his other arm and went for the bite again, this time with a clear shot…

And then he felt himself suddenly lifted, spun three sixty and found his own face slammed into the bricks, then something hit him in the small of the back. He thought maybe it was a cement truck. Then it hit him again and he lost all control of his legs. He was spun around again, had a momentary vision of a woman's enraged face and a fist came up and broke his jaw and for a moment his sight was nothing but stars and black spots and pain. Slowly the stars and the black spots cleared. The woman hit him again, he felt his ribs breaking. Again, more ribs, suddenly the pain was so great it was gone, he felt vaguely separate from his body, his mind drifting … he could sort of feel his bones breaking but it seemed to be happening in the distance somehow. The blows continued, his body was literally being hammered flat. He could hear a voice,

"Faith… Faith… Faith…"

"It's a little late for that I think," Dahlgren tried to answer.

"Faith…" the voice repeated, growing clearer, "Faith! Enough! Faith!… I think he's done, Faith."

Dahlgren had a moment of clarity. Faith. _Xander. _Faith. Xander _Harris, one-eyed guy. _He would have laughed. Of all the fucking luck.

The blows had stopped, she released him, he felt his body fall, slide, slump, settle into a twisted lump in the snow. He knew vampires could survive starvation, drowning. Gunshot wounds. He'd survived a few broken bones since turning, even with vamp eyesight night skiing had its dangers. But he'd always healed quickly and back to normal. But he'd never been hurt like this, maimed like this. He wondered if he'd live. He wondered if he wanted to, if his body would return to normal or simply fuse as it was. He heard voices.

"Xan are…"

"I'm fine…."

"Oh god I'm so sorry…"

"I'm fine, Faith, really…"

"No, I mean about before. Everything. I'm sorry."

"Oh. Yeah. Me too."

"I was being a bitch…"

"Faith…"

"No, don't say anything, just…"

"Now? _Here? _You want me to freeze them off?"

_"Now. _Here. I'll keep them warm…. Hurry, baby, I need you … Damn, Xan, how many pairs of pants do you have on… ah, there he is…. Now, baby, give me, yes baby, yes, right there, YES!"

Now that, Dahlgren thought, is just rude.

"Oh GOD, Xan, yes, yes, love me baby, hold me hard Xan, Yes! Yes, like that Xan, yes lover yes…."

Dahlgren felt a sharp slice of pain reach out and touch his floating mind. The sunuvabitch had stepped on his foot.

They went on. And on. God damn the woman had lungs. Finally, a wailing climax descending into some heavy breathing, incoherent mumbling. Voices.

"So waddya think the chances are there's any egg rolls left?"

"Not good. … Faith?"

"Yeah baby?"

"Don't forget our friend here…"

"Oh, yeah."

And then there was a brief vision of the woman's face, cheeks still flushed, nostrils dilated, eyes half-closed and yet gleaming in that unmistakable post-coital tranquility. There were, the vampire thought, worse views to have as you left the world. And then there was the blessed peace of the stake and SSgt. Martin Dahlgren, (deceased), was a patch of dirty snow, drifting lost and scattered in the endless high plains wind.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack stopped the SUV in front of Daniel Jackson's house and turned to look in the back seat where the archeologist was again fast asleep.

"Hey Danny boy…. Give him a push would you, T? Unless you want to carry him in and put him to bed?"

Teal'c reached over and gave him a gentle shake. Daniel snorted, shook his head and began blinking.

"Where….?"

"Home, Daniel," Jack said.

"Oh. Yes. Good." He opened the door, stepped out, reached back to gather his things. "Yes. Well. See you all tomorrow."

Jack waited as he went up the walk and opened the door, just to be sure he hadn't lost or forgotten his key. He put the SUV in gear and started for Carter's place. The driving was getting a little interesting on the residential streets where the snow was beginning to accumulate in significant amounts.

"So T," he said as they neared Carter's street, "you want to bunk at my place tonight and we'll go up the mountain in the morning?"

"Actually sir," Carter said, "If you just want to avoid the trip, I think I'm going to go up now, while I still can. There are some things I want to work on in the morning."

"You know, they're pretty good about plowing that road, Carter."

"Yessir. But they're not so quick about clearing mine. I just want to be sure."

"You do know that that's not sane, right?"

"Yessir."

"Just so you know. Up to you, T?"

"I thank you for the invitation O'Neill but I believe performing Kel'No'Reem would be the best use of my time this evening so that I will be fully prepared for my duties tomorrow."

He waited at Carter's until she got her car started and assured him the Volvo could manage the current conditions. Then he went home. The house was quiet. Empty. Maybe he should have invited them all over, finish the weekend with an informal supper. Probably the world wouldn't actually end if Carter was late to work on Monday, even if some people would see it as a portent of imminent doom.

Or maybe not. Maybe there had been enough SG1 togetherness for one quiet, amazingly uneventful weekend. Even if sooner or later something would have to be done about Teal'c's new hat.

He opened a beer and made himself a sandwich and ate it looking out the window at the falling snow. Inside looking out the night was quiet, clean. Peaceful.

**-30-**


	3. Chapt 2: Event Horizons

**Chapt 2: Event Horizons**

**A/N:** See Chapt. 1 for disclaimers, warnings, timelines

**Secrets: A Father Goose Tale**

**A BTVS-SG1 Crossover**

**Chapt 2: Event Horizons**

**Camp Kendra, Cuba, June 2007**

Renee sat cross-legged on the towel, hands resting on her knees, her fingers making the little thumb-to-index finger circles that were supposed to relax your forearm muscles. She peeked through half-closed eyes at the other girls in similar positions. She wondered how many of the others were faking it.

Seriously, how did they expect _anyone_ to meditate on a beach, let alone a slayer? She could hear the birds, the waves, the people down the shore, Dayami chopping something in the kitchen. She sneaked a glance at Willow, sitting cross-legged herself, facing the girls, her eyes closed, her red hair rustling in the breeze. Sitting about eight inches above the sand. Renee was pretty sure it was trick. Well, trick in the real magic sense, a levitation spell or something, but nothing to do with meditation. Renee was pretty sure. But not entirely. That was the thing with Willow. You never really knew what was going on with her. Maybe Xander did. Maybe Mr. Giles.

The girls made fun of her sometimes, _Earth Mother Willow, _imitating the famous babble or the slightly distracted way she walked, looking around like she was seeing a lot of things nobody else was. Of course, the thing was, she probably did see things nobody else did. Things that were really there. Sometimes she just looked at the girls and smiled. Didn't bother Renee, the witch had always been nice to her, plus she was the founder and president of the "Hurt Xander and Die Club" of which Renee was a fervent, card carrying member, so the witch was Good in her book, end of story.

But some of the girls found her unnerving and, so, being slayers, they mocked what they feared, but always in a low voice and looking carefully around for her. Or Xander. Fast-track to Xander's doghouse, making fun of Willow.

And Renee wanted very much to stay on Xander's good side. First, 'cause she always wanted Xander to smile when he saw her. But also because, while officially Giles was the one who asked for volunteers and made the assignments, everyone knew Xander got final say over the girls that went on the special missions with him and Faith. Just as Dawn had final say on the girls that went on Buffy's occasional special projects. And Renee wanted badly to go on the special missions, even if it did mean wading through fields of stinking zombies. She'd missed the Jamaica clean-up, and the attack of Wee-knuck demons in Perth and the Fyarl rebellion the Bronx. She'd only managed to get on to the Haiti clean-up by jumping up and down and playing the I-was-shot-in-Panama-and-I-need-to-get-back-on-the-horse-that-threw-me card. Actually she didn't think she was fooling Xander at all with that one but she'd given him both the trembling lip and the tears welling in the eyes until Faith was laughing,

"For fuck's sake, Xan if she wants to go that bad, let her. Just don't bitch to me when you get your first case of the trots, kid."

Of course, she hadn't got sick at all, but some of the other girls had.

But this was part of the deal, to go on the missions, you had to go on the debriefings afterward. Sometimes, if the mission had just been cleaning out a nest of vamps or demons, that just meant a big party. But if it had been dirty, if humans or a fellow slayer got killed, you had to go through Willow's cleansing process. You didn't _have_ to. Faith didn't have to. But Renee didn't know anyone who had refused. It's not like it was a bad time or anything. Just boring. At least she got to do it at Camp Kendra, she hadn't ever been to Devon yet but this had to be better.

She realized Willow was standing now, stretching, speaking, "Thank you ladies, I expect Dayami has some lunch ready for you, Renee, would you stay a minute please."

Oh, fuck. Now what? Her stomach rumbled.

The witch had put on a wide floppy hat and big sunglasses and had made Renee put on another layer of her special sunblock. They walked along the water's edge, Renee on the ocean side, letting the surf just wash her feet on every seventh wave.

"The answer to your question," Willow said, "is about half."

"What question?"

"You were wondering how many of the girls were faking the meditation."

Renee's eyes went wide. "But.. but.. Xander said you couldn't read minds."

"Oh, honey, I didn't need to read your mind, it was written all over your face. And as I said, about half, so no you weren't the only one."

"Well, I just don't see the point," Renee kicked some sand. "I did the right thing. Everyone, Faith, Xander, everyone says I did the right thing. I saved Jun Lee's ass," she snickered, "well, not her _ass, _but I saved her life. I just don't see why I should feel bad about it. Or even have to sit and think about it."

"We don't want you to feel bad about it. We just want to be sure that you _can _think about it. And we want to be sure that it doesn't get too easy. You have to understand, Renee, you're a very important part of an entirely new situation. We don't have all the answers, Xander, Giles, myself. We're learning too. This is part of it. Meditation is good for some slayers, others, not so much. In your case, I think  
the meditation session will no longer be mandatory."

"Cool."

"You know, you could try not to look quite so happy about it. Hey, check it out."

Renee looked down where Willow was pointing, just couple hands' lengths out from Renee's feet a brightly colored snake slithered through the water.

"Oh, that's a pretty one," Renee said.

"Yeah," Willow agreed, looking at her just a little funny. "Speaking of snakes, what did you think of the snake things you found in Haiti?"

Renee shuddered. "Yuck, yuck with double blech points. So much worse than the zombies."

"You mean the ones Faith and Shad found in the barons or the little ones in the guards?"

"Both. Well, the ones in the guards most, but that's only cause I saw them when they were still alive and squirming and that one tried to jump on Andre and Ashley had to stomp it. Ewwwww."

"What about the ones in the snake pit?"

"Oh, those were just snakes. Real snakes. I mean, I wouldn't want them in my underwear drawer or anything, but they were just snakes. Those other things… yuck."

"I see. Thank you. On that note, why don't you go see if Dayami saved some lunch for you."

xxxxxxxxx

Willow watched the young slayer sprint happily away. She never knew quite what to make of Renee. She was the most, for lack of a more watcherly phrase, the most natural-born slayer Willow had ever encountered.

Slayers as a whole were not a meek lot, nor overly given to introspection but Renee was the most purely, instinctively self-confident person Willow had ever met and yes she was massively jealous. Renee was, for example, the only slayer Willow knew who treated both Faith and Buffy as equals. Oh, there were girls like Caridad and Vi who had known them both long enough to be comfortable in their presence, but still there was just a touch of deference. And other girls of course nerved themselves up and made a show of their lack of deference which of course backfired completely. But Renee spoke to Faith or Buffy the same way she spoke to Jun Lee or Isobel…. Or Dayami for that matter. Faith of course loved her for it. Buffy was mostly amused, if just the slightest bit put out, which had so entertained Dawn she'd spent half the big Cleveland Christmas party finding ways to put the two of them together.

Renee was utterly unfazed by the battles, demons, vamps, men with guns, sludge monsters, all the same to her. She killed men in battle without second thought and, so the story went, once cried for two days after accidentally killing a baby bird while playing with a boomerang in the back yard of the Cleveland house.

So thank the Goddess she seemed naturally inclined toward the light, Willow thought, she wouldn't have had the slightest idea what to do about it if she wasn't.

Speaking of light Willow could tell by the blinding glare of white skin in sunshine that Giles was out by the pool. There was an antithetical concept if ever there was one. Not that she should talk, or was in a position to make fun of anybody's pale white skin. She went to join him.

On the way she stopped at the jacuzzi where Corinth was soaking her aching muscles, looking sad. She was a big, athletic woman, much given to horseback riding. Willow suspected that deep down, beneath her vegetarian habits and her wiccan love of the earth and all its children she harbored a deep ancestral desire to chase foxes. Here there had been volleyball and swimming and dancing and couple scuba trips and of course Corinth had tried to keep up.

Willow sat on the jacuzzi's edge, draped her legs down on either side of her, she suspected, not-for-much-longer lover, kissed the top of her head, felt her muscled shoulders, still tight despite the warm water.

"They're slayers, Corrie. They'd leave Jackie Joyner-Kersee in the dust."

"I know. I just hate it when they…. Take it easy on me. Go on."

"What?"

"Go on. You came out to talk to Giles. I'm fine."

Yes, Willow thought, this one was over. She felt sad, but just a little. She wished she felt worse but… she didn't. Soon, there would be another. She was probably the most powerful witch living, and power is of course an aphrodisiac. They came like moths … and if she was careful they left with their (and her) wings just a little singed. It suited her. Didn't take a genius to know why she kept her distance, she wasn't ready for another Tara, maybe she never would be. For now, she had a sweet-smelling salve for aching muscles, later she would spread it on Corrie's sculptured body, they would make sad goodbye love to the sound of the surf and the distant dance bands and in the morning they would 'port home and go their separate ways.

She went to join Giles.

And..?" he asked as she sat, referring to Renee, maintaining his customary and much appreciated feigned obliviousness to, and, Willow suspected, genuine disinterest in the romantic dramas swirling around him.

"Yep, just like the others. Even little miss wouldn't flap in a hurricane gets the heebie jeebies just talking about those things. I conjured a snake at her feet and she didn't even twitch, but just talking about the Haiti things and I could feel her revulsion."

"And you? Any insights?"

"Nothing specific. I can sense that they are … at home here… and yet there is something … foreign. Not of the earth."

"Killer snakemonsters from space?" Giles said with a smile.

"Possibly. More likely they came through a portal. But wherever they came from I think they, or rather their ancestors came here a long long time ago."

"Shame they deteriorated so fast." Giles said. "I suppose we really should start putting together some sort of evidence gathering kit with some cold storage capabilities. Or maybe a … I so hate to call it a crime scene team. It makes me feel like Inspector Plodder and if there's one thing I always knew I never wanted to be it was that. Oh well. So, plans this afternoon?"

"Nothing special."

"Good. Irina has convinced me to let some shady friend of hers have a look at the weapons we recovered. I need you to help me make sure he leaves with nothing but his memories."

"Do you need me to wipe…."

"No. Shouldn't think so. I know you hate doing that. Still if he happens to shout 'Eureka, so _that's_ how to end the world by gum!'…."

"I'll prepare a spell, just in case."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Colorado October 2007

"Yes, Airman, what is it?" Samantha Carter said as the young woman, one of the numerous non-coms who served as cooks and bottle-washers to the base laboratories, approached her desk.

"Ma'am, I've obtained and watched the _America's Most Wanted_ episodes as you requested. Permission to go home, lock the door and hide under the bed, ma'am."

"Denied," Carter said, smiling. "And?"

"There were several African-American males of above average size, I printed copies of their pictures," the Airman said, holding out a folder, "but none that I believe particularly resembled Mr. Teal'c."

"Actually, that's really more for Colonel O'Neill… Nevermind, I'll give them to him. Thank you Airman. Dismissed."

"Ma'am."

Knowing better than to waste a trip down the hall on the very long shot that Jack was in his office Carter called ahead.

"Colonel," she started when he answered, but got no further…

"Carter. Great, urgent, is it? I'll come to you…." And he hung up. Thus trading, Carter realized ruefully, five minutes of having her in his office for at least two hours rambling around the base on his way to and from hers. He must have reports to write. Of course he had reports to write. He always had reports to write.

She wondered how much of his current obsession with their good Samaritans was simply an avoid-report-writing project. Well, she was just going to have to disappoint him. She'd figured it out.

A few minutes later he showed up, lounging in the doorway like the badboy at the school dance, "Whatchya got, Carter?"

She passed on the Airman's pictures and verbal report, Jack nodded and glanced quickly at the images, looking pleased. Clearly it was exactly what he'd expected.

"You know what I wonder, Carter?" he said. "I wonder what would have happened if I'd said we'd just picked Teal'c up hitch-hiking at a truckstop."

"Sir," Carter said, "I think we may be making too much of this. Now that I've had time to think about it seems obvious what must have happened. The tires would have been hot initially and melted the snow, the water would have acted as a lubricating agent, making it that much more difficult to gain traction. Then during the time we were talking to the girls and hooking the chain up the tires cooled and the snow and water froze, creating an attachment to the tires that gave us enough traction to move forward and once moving the momentum enabled us to simply drive free, making any assistance from the car unnecessary."

"Yu-huh," Jack said, the skepticism large on his face. Okay, maybe she didn't quite believe it either. But Occam's razor still applied, even if sometimes the simplest answer in their world was "ancient aliens from another galaxy", the principle was still sound. Ninety-nine times out a hundred it wasn't ancient aliens from another galaxy. It was just more exciting and memorable when it was.

She wasn't ready to believe in ...what, young girls strong enough to lift SUV's running around rescuing stranded motorists?

Even if they had enhancement armbands hidden under their coats… perhaps a less extreme enhancement than the ones Anise had foisted on SG1 meant survivability?… That seemed to a be a pretty odd group to have such advanced tech.

Alien biker chick with a miniature anti-grav device?

Not when a bit of elementary physics would suffice.

"You get anything on the car?" Jack asked.

"Now, that's a funny thing," she said, pulling up the data file she'd compiled, preferring to do the work herself than explain to security why she wanted the check run. "Nineteen eighty two Jaguar XJ6, registered to a Mr. Delmar Karten of Encino, California. All taxes and insurance paid up. Pretty unremarkable, except that according to the Social Security Administration Mr. Karten died in 1988, at the age of sixty-seven. Murdered, a victim of a string of violent muggings in the area, according to the local paper. It's just that no one told the DMV. He got a ticket for running a redlight in 1992, and three speeding tickets in 1992, '97 and 2001.

"Not bad for a dead man," Jack said. "You don't suppose that was him all bundled up, with the cane do you. He'd be what, eighty-eight, eighty-nine.

"If that was Karten, yes, but …."

"Seemed to be doing pretty good with the ladies for an old geezer. 'Course that was a _really_ nice car…."

"Sir, it's much more likely someone else simply assumed the identity…"

"Yes, but not nearly as interesting…"

And then the klaxons were sounding, an unscheduled offworld activation was announced and they ran off to deal with more pressing matters which, as it happened turned out to be SG10 returning with their tails between their legs. Unfortunately, in this case, not a metaphor.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leticia Kearney hurried through the evening chores, spreading the hay for her three horses in their stalls while the dogs, Buster and Keaton, herded the not unwilling sheep into the barn for the night. The three goats, Charlie, Harold and ClaraBow, making a point of their independence, made half serious butting runs at the dogs and came into the barn in their own good time, ie just in time for Leticia to spread their grain. She checked the book, it was ClaraBow's turn but Harold was more accustomed to the ritual, seemed to take it as just part of being a goat. Or maybe it was just the apple addiction. In any case, Leticia was in a hurry this night, and besides she preferred Harold. She reached into the pen, lifted him and carried him into the fourth and empty horse stall. She had a big, crisp red McIntosh for him, he was already eagerly nosing her pockets for it. She let him find it, waited as he munched it down, then as he was noisily licking his lips and looking up hopefully for more she knelt beside him, spread the course hair away from the vein in his neck and bit firmly but gently and drank her breakfast.

Back in the house she shucked her chore clothes and took a quick shower, paused a moment contemplating her wardrobe, and decided to go with one of the more old-fashioned full skirt, blouse and jacket outfits she knew he liked. In the garage she unplugged the block heater and started up the 1954 International pick-up she kept in perfect running condition. They just didn't make them like that anymore, good, simple, working machinery. She let the engine warm for awhile and then drove in to town.

She parked in the church lot across from the cemetery. She paused on the sidewalk and looked around, listened. There had been an influx of … rough types lately. Coarse, citified folks with no sense of place or propriety. But she could hear only the usual sounds of evening in Colorado Springs. She crossed the street and leapt easily over the fence and moved swiftly through the tombstones. Most of the snow from last weeks big storm was still there, thinly crusted over from, she presumed, the day's sunshine melt, and the crunch of her footsteps echoed in the trees. She circled his crypt. She could see no footsteps going in or coming out. Well, maybe, she thought hopefully, he was just being careful. She took a little run and made a good leap herself, if he wasn't leaving footsteps she wouldn't either. She landed on the roof, moved over to the main doorway and dropped down, pushed it open and went inside, closed the door behind her. She rapped on the central sarcophagus, waited a polite minute or two and rapped again. Still no answer. She shifted the stone cover aside, reached down to unlatch the trap door and dropped down into his lair.

The air was dead, still. There was a light film of dust. And she knew. Truth be told, she'd known since he'd missed their usual Wednesday dinner. The sergeant had never had what you would call flowery manners, but he'd been inherently courteous. He would never stand a lady up without a very good reason, or without making every effort to apologize. He'd been very much a creature of habit. He never missed Wednesday, and he always dropped by at least on other day a week… never the same day twice in a row because he liked his freedom… But she hadn't seen him since the big storm and she knew. She called out anyway,

"Marty? Hey, Marty!…. " her voice echoed in the small room. "Ah, Marty," she said softly. She'd tried a couple times to get him to move into a house. Money wasn't a problem, she'd long ago become quite proficient managing her very long term investments, a house was pocket change, though she would have let him pay her back if he'd insisted. But that wasn't it.

"If I'm a damn vampire," he'd said insisting on the crypt. "I might as well be a damn _Vampire." _She smiled. Of course that didn't stop him from making himself comfortable. He had an old wooden rocker, the best stereo system and home theatre he could steal, a half-fridge filled with blood and Coors which he bought by the case at the nearby liquor store despite her standing offer of all the horse piss he could drink for free at her place.

"I prefer it cold," he'd say.

She went by the cabinet, ran her finger lightly over his collection of classic western movies, John Wayne and Gary Cooper, Randolph Scott. Eastwood. She paused, shifted a few titles aside… there was one case hidden behind the others, she pulled it out and felt the tears well up. _Paint Your Wagon._ He'd got his own copy.

She sat down in his chair and sat rocking, remembering the time she'd conned him into watching it with her, _"Marty, honey, it's Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin in the wild west, you'll love it." _And he had, though he could never admit it. Of course he'd gone nuts when Clint started walking through the woods singing to the trees… but Lee had brought him round.

She pictured it now, Marty here alone, late in the day, singing along,

_They civilize left  
They civilize right  
Till nothing is left  
Till nothing is right _

They civilize freedom  
Till no one is free  
No one except  
By coincidence, me

Poor Marty, she thought, a born Partner, steady and stolid, even beyond the grave, longing to be wild Ben Rumson.

"Ah Marty," she said aloud. She wiped her eyes, straightened her clothes, put the dvd back in the rack, took a last look around and climbed up to the trap door and pulled herself out. She eased the sarcophagus lid back and went out into the clear night air, no longer worrying about footprints.

They were waiting for her, just outside. Five of them. Punks. Two of them were fledglings, but the other three had been around awhile, street thugs, born and raised and turned no doubt on the wrong side of Colfax, now running scared of rumors of little girls…

She gave them vamp face, like she just thought they were stupid enough to think her human and tried to sweep past, but they weren't having any.

"We know what you are, bitch," one of them snarled. "You're what we call local talent."

She went for his eyes and almost got them, but they caught her arms, she fought, she was vampire strong and had that little extra strength people who work outdoors have, she got in some kicks and a couple good scratches, but they were five strong males with no scruples whatsoever about … anything really. They drug her back inside the crypt, slammed her on her back on the sarcophagus, four of them held her spread-eagled while the fifth ripped at her clothes, shredding the vintage cotton and revealing her marble-white skin that glowed in the dim light.

The leader dropped his pants and shuffled forward, leaning over her, vamping out and grinning … and then he was doing some sort of convulsive dance, his eyes wide and staring and then his head exploded, the vamps holding her arms and legs dropped them and fell back, reaching too late to cover their ears against the echo of the shotgun blast inside enclosed space.

Leticia rolled backward onto her feet and gathered her shredded clothes around her and watched the dark figure in the billowing duster stalk inside, her sawed-off twelve gauge held ready in one had as she reached out to jab the cattle-prod she held in the other at the remaining thugs who, after a token hiss or two, ran for the doorway.

"For God's sake Letty," her rescuer said, "you should know better than to come down here unarmed with all this big city trash hanging around."

"Yeah, Ardyce, I know. I was just so worried about him I got in a hurry."

"He's dust, ain't he?" Ardyce said.

"Yes," Leticia said softly.

"Well, fuck," the other woman said, and took a kick at the sad bit of a dust pile the beheaded thug had left. "Fuck. Poor Sarge. Should have shot _all_ those fuckers."

"All in good time," Leticia said. She moved forward, reached out and touched the leather clad shoulder. Ardyce was wearing her full on gunfighter outfit, black hat and the duster, leather vest and black corduroy pants, snakeskin boots, gun belt, she had a theory she repeated often, _"If people think you're flat out crazy they won't notice how weird you really are." _

Leticia felt her old friend break and wrapped her arms around her and held her as she cried, convulsive sobs wracking her body. And then the storm had passed, she pulled away, wiped her eyes vigorously, stamped her feet a couple times, folded up the cattle prod and slipped it back into the sheath on her leg, slipped the shotgun back into the holster dangling under her right arm. She turned back to Leticia and shook her head.

"I guess we better get you some new duds."

Her clothes were hopeless so Ardyce gave her her coat and pretty much wearing only that Leticia got in her truck and followed Ardyce as she took off in her brand new Jeep Wrangler. There were still people around downtown so they parked in the alley behind _McWilliam's Ladies Fashions, _waited 'til the coast was clear and then clambered quickly up to the loose window on the second floor and went in, as they had many times before.

Using each other as mirrors they played dress-up for awhile, trying on different personas, but ending up as they always did, as themselves. Leticia with blue jeans, cotton blouse, v-neck but not too low, nice hip length shearling coat, brown low-heeled round-toed cowboy boots. Ardyce, as it were, vamped it a bit more, very low cut, draped black silk blouse, her ample mammary endowment supported only by the lovely anti-sag side benefit of being a vampire. Leather skirt hemmed a couple inches above the knees, witch boots, waist length black leather jacket. Leticia did her make-up, kohl-rimmed eyes, blood-red lips, bit of blush to hide the pallor.

The she sat as Ardyce did hers, going for a subtler, more natural look. The process finished, Leticia reached out and took a towelette and very deliberately wiped her forehead.

"Goddamnit Letty, I promised I would never do that again."

"I know," Leticia said. Once, mad about something, what exactly, neither one could remember, Ardyce and had written _"I suck cocks for quarters,"_ on Leticia's forehead and taken her out on a pub crawl. They'd reached the third bar before she figured out why she was suddenly so popular. Vengeance had been sworn but was still pending. After a moment Ardyce picked up towelette and wiped her own forehead.

Ardyce boxed up her discarded gunfighter outfit and they started for the back door, "So," Ardyce said, "What'll it be? Non-com, officer? Play it by ear?"

"I think I'd prefer an officer, just for a change of pace. Of course, if we happen to come across Master Sergeant Greek God I'm flexible. And Ardy, let's just go ahead and make it a threesome this time. I mean it was fun watching poor Marty working so hard to make sure we didn't run into each other and compare notes, but sometimes it was just a pain too."

"Sure. So, O'Malley's then?"

"Suits me."

**-30-**

**Next: Chapt. 3: Games People Play**


	4. Chapt 3: Games People Play

**Chapt 3: Games People Play**

**A/N:** See Chapt. 1 for disclaimers, warnings, timelines

**Secrets: A Father Goose Tale**

**A BTVS-SG1 Crossover**

**Chapt 3: Games People Play**

**Colorado Springs, Colorado, October 2007**

Captain Benjamin Werner was having his usual Friday night steak at O'Malley's Bar and Grill. It was a good steak. He wasn't enjoying it much.

The Friday night steak at O'Malley's was sort of a personal tradition with him. It had started as a special occasion tradition. He'd had a steak there the day he'd been introduced to the Stargate. He'd had that steak with the other dazed and awestruck officers in his class who had successfully passed through the selection process, and finally been told what they'd been selected for.

He'd had a steak after his first Gate trip, he and the other first timers had gone out to celebrate. He'd had a steak when he'd been officially made a member of SG19, that had been with the team. After surviving the mine collapse in P4X-399 he had a steak with the other two survivors. About that time he'd decided that every Friday he was alive was a day worth celebrating, he could generally convince one or two members of his team to share the sentiment. Then he'd started having Friday night steaks with his girlfriend Debra, six months after that he had Friday night steaks with his wife Debra.

About eight months later one of SG19's scheduled missions had been scrubbed at the last minute and he'd come home early to find a Harley in his driveway and a fighter pilot in his bed.

Now he mostly had his Friday night steak at a table for one. Oh, occasionally one of the guys from the team joined him, but he'd be the first to admit he wasn't the best company.

It wasn't fair. Debra had laughed, called him a pencil pusher and a desk jockey, not a real man like her motorcycle hero, her supersonic flyboy. And he'd had to just stand there and say nothing of his true life, wanting to rage,

"That asshole sits in the cockpit and rides around in pointless circles while his computer flies the plane, _I travel lightyears across space, explore distant planets, save the world…"_ except he wasn't allowed to say that last part and the first part sounded petty and weak without it.

She'd said he had no passion, was doing nothing with his life. And again he had to stand mute, he even tried to tell her what he did was not unexciting, just classified but she hadn't believed him.

And she wasn't the first girl he'd lost that way. She was just the one that hurt. Most girls were gone before he even got close, they'd ask him what he did and he'd say "Deep Space Radar…" and by that point their eyes would glaze over. He had to admit he wasn't the most scintillating company. But that wasn't wholly his fault, all the things he was passionate about, that he could have discussed with insight and animation, were classified.

He knew there were guys, like Colonel O'Neill, who could answer the what do you do question with "Not much," or even a "classified" and the women still just knew he did something cool and dangerous. Werner knew he didn't have that knack and never would.

Easy enough to say, women like that, he was better off losing. But the women in the program were few, and as a practical matter pretty much off limits. He knew full well there were a few storeroom liaisons going on. But he didn't dare take that route, not that he'd had any offers. He absolutely lived for what he did and was damned if he'd risk it for a bit of tail. Or for true love, for that matter.

One time he'd had a date with a woman who was actually interested in Deep Space Radar Telemetry, but she'd asked him a bunch of mathematical questions he hadn't been able to answer and she'd thought him a poser.

He sighed, all in all he knew was lucky. He knew guys who would give their left nut to have his job, most of time he was fully occupied and happy. But Friday nights sucked.

Especially since Debra seemed to take delight in bringing her latest boytoy in for an hour or so, drinking and playing grab-ass at the bar. She was here now. But O'Malley's was his place and he was damned if he was going to let her drive him out.

For distraction he looked around, seeing who else from the SG teams was there. He saw SG1, their easy closeness like a force-field around their table. SG1, and that meant Samantha Carter. Now _that _was the kind of woman… he knew the rumors, she was banging O'Neill, she was banging Teal'c, she was banging both. Werner preferred not the believe any of it, there were always rumors. But one thing was certain, she wasn't going to be going home with him any time soon.

Fuck it, he told himself, eat up and get gone, go home, see what the TIVO had to keep his mind off the empty bedroom. He looked down, neatly sliced a bite size chunk off the steak, dipped it in the A-1, chewed methodically.

"Excuse me, sir," a soft voice said. He looked up. She was a pretty woman, light brown hair, striking blue eyes, her shearling coat and conservative blouse covering but not hiding the very nice figure underneath. She was smiling shyly.

"Yes, ma'am?" He started to stand, but she put her hand gently on his shoulder, spoke quickly,

"No, please, don't get up," she said. "I know this is very forward of me, but I was wondering if you'd mind terribly if my friend and I joined you?"

Her friend had raven black hair, equally striking eyes, a figure that wasn't much covered, let alone hidden, and a smile that, despite the bright red lipstick, seemed almost as shy as the first woman's.

"Please, ladies," he said, "it would be my pleasure." He couldn't help but, from time to time, take a glance over to see if Debra noticed his new company. She didn't seem to, but by the time the check came, his treat, he insisted, and they all left arm in arm, he didn't even think to look, Debra quite forgotten.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Camp Kendra, Cuba, June 2007**

"If I wanted you dead Nigel, you'd be dead," Irina said sweetly. "I'm afraid the minders stay outside. I'll have the cook take them some sandwiches and lemonade."

Willow stood in a little alcove just off the hall and watched Irina make small talk as her guest was quickly frisked by Javier.

Willow didn't quite know what to make of Irina Derevko either. In many ways she was just the opposite of Renee. There was nothing free and instinctive about the Russian woman, everything she did was precise and calculated. She was smooth, in control because she was practiced and she calculated quickly, but still if you looked you could see the effort there. She had worked hard to become who she was, was still working hard to fight a losing battle against time.

And she was definitely not naturally inclined toward the light.

Willow thought about what it must be like for her to have the slayers there, taking over her house, young, beautiful, superpowered. In some ways quite pampered, like racehorses. She had seen her watching them sometimes, her face … thoughtful. Beyond that you couldn't tell with Irina if she didn't want you to. Not without magic…. And Willow would do that only at the last resort, with a good reason.

And so far Irina had given her none. She had treated Willow herself with unfailing courtesy, even a slight deference that Willow knew did not come easy. Every once in a while Willow felt the woman was watching her… but could hardly fault her for that. Had their roles been reversed, Willow knew she would have been much more intrusive.

And Irina seemed genuinely fond of the girls, her face growing animated watching their antics by the pool, she seemed almost as enthused about the little shopping and fine dining excursions she took the girls on as they were.

If only she wasn't _Faith's_ protégé…. Willow was trying hard, now that Faith and Xander seemed to be a lasting thing, to emotionally as well as intellectually let the past be the past, but the dark slayer still made her nervous. Not that she thought Faith would go bad again so much as concern that her judgment was not of the best. That Faith saw something of herself in Irina wasn't the most reassuring concept. Oh, well, what was the saying, better on the inside pissing out… Willow shook her head trying to get that metaphor as far away from Irina's image in her mind's eye as possible. To business.

She did a quick reveal spell as Irina brought her guest down the hall. He was very much as if sent by central casting, a tall man with a military bearing, but the body gone to seed, jowly, neck roll, a bit of a gut, expensive suit that didn't quite fit. She let the spell settle on him and it revealed …. Nothing, no concealed weapons, magic or conventional, no listening devices. Irina caught her eye and Willow nodded, then followed as they went downstairs.

Giles was waiting in what had been Irina's combination bunker and firing range, and had since been converted to accommodate a wider variety of weapons practice. Shad lurked discretely in one corner, toying idly with a dagger.

Irina introduced Giles, there was some small talk about Oxford, then Giles pulled the sheet off the table revealing one each of the strange weapons Xander had gathered in Haiti. The man came alive, his eyes bright, his hands active. He picked up the larger one first, a staff of sorts with a fishlike tail on one end and a heavy bulbous metal tip on the other, and hefted it, quickly found the firing mechanism. On a nod from Giles he aimed and fired at the rather battered pile of sandbags at the far end of the room, which erupted in smoke and flickering fames as the sand fused.

"Oh, I say," Nigel said.

Next he picked up the smaller metal weapon made to look like a cobra's head. The man fiddled about for a couple minutes before getting the thing to open into firing position. The test fire of this weapon was much less impressive in appearance, looking like nothing but a bit of electrical discharge. Giles described what they had learned about its effects, but declined to demonstrate. Once had been enough.

Willow was still feeling a bit icky about that. Yes, the poor pigs were scheduled for slaughter anyway, getting zapped unconscious was actually probably much less painful than the sharp knives the local butchers used to slit their throats. Still there was something inherently distasteful about testing weapons on animals. But Xander had said in the fight in Haiti the things had had an effect on living tissue they didn't seem to have on inanimate objects and they'd needed to know.

One shot to stun, two to kill, three to vaporize.

The pig who'd disintegrated was a waste, but Dayami had assured Willow she'd use everything but the squeal from the second one. Nevertheless it was a step or two backwards on her search for inner peace.

Nigel then had a look at the sort of glove, palm-jewel thing that Faith insisted one of the barons had used a weapon, but was unable to determine how it worked, which came as no surprise, if slayers couldn't make a weapon work Willow doubted anyone else could.

The initial investigation over, Nigel settled down to a detailed inspection, taking copious notes in long hand on a legal pad Irina provided. On an okay nod from Giles Willow slipped away and left them to it. After a moment of dithering she went to join Dayami in the kitchen. Willow was a little worried that Dayami felt her kitchen visits intrusive, even condescending, but was afraid to say so out of the excess respect for the Red Witch instilled by her aunt. Not that the cheery Cuban woman had done anything but make her welcome. So probably she was just projecting.

She took a deep breath full of steam and spices and went in and was soon mixing batter, listening to the latest chapter in the dispute Dayami was having with one of the women in the fish market, and contemplating the blasphemous thought that maybe this was a truer path to inner peace and enlightenment than all the meditation and communing with the earth and sky the Devon coven prescribed.

She helped Dayami serve an afternoon tea as Giles, Irina, and Nigel convened in the dining room to discuss the latter's report.

Nigel seemed to take it for granted Irina was in charge, Giles seemed content to let the impression stand and Willow saw no reason to interfere. Nigel seemed to think she was some sort of personal assistant to Irina, which Willow decided was just as well, and took a seat a little behind Irina as if waiting for instructions and listened in.

"I don't suppose you're offering them for sale?" Nigel said, and Irina smiled. "No, I didn't think so. Any chance of telling me where you obtained them?"

"Nigel," Irina said softly.

"Yes, yes, well, one has to ask. So. Very interesting indeed. To answer your first question, no, I've never seen anything like them before. One has heard stories recently of the Americans having some rather radical new ideas, and some odd toys they are very hush hush about. Super secret tests in the Nevada desert and so on. But then one is always hearing that sort of thing. And I must say the Americans aren't known for having much in the way of whimsy when it comes to weapons design. Those snake things are really quite clumsy, and if there is some technical reason for the shape it quite escapes me."

He handed Irina the pad with his notes. "Here, take a quick dekko and see if you have any questions. The truly significant item is the power source, which frankly has me completely stymied. I've heard of some experiments being done with plasma weapons, but as far as I know, to get that kind of power and make it mobile you'd need a small nuclear reactor. Figure the power source out and you've got the real moneymaker."

He attacked the food then with a sort of controlled frenzy, eating steadily until Irina had finished reading the notes. Irina declared the notes very thorough, looked to Giles who had a couple questions about how Nigel thought the weapons would most likely be used. And then Irina was escorting Nigel to the door,

"Be discrete, Nigel," Irina said. "I really don't want anyone showing up at my door saying 'Nigel sent me'."

"Now Irina, you know me better than that."

"I hope so. And be careful, I would be genuinely sorry to hear about your body washing up on a beach somewhere. Or simply disappearing."

"I'm touched. Truly. I'd be really, really touched by a chance to buy a piece of the action."

"Not this time, Nige. Sorry."

When they were gone down the hall Giles heaved a huge sigh.

"What is it?" Willow asked.

"You know this means I'll have to bring Andrew in on this," Giles said and looked so forlorn Willow couldn't decide whether to laugh or give him a hug. "He'll have to come to London and once he sees these things he'll never want to leave. Probably blow a hole in the storage room and set the whole place on fire before he's through."

"Well, on the bright side those snake guns are confusing, maybe he'll zap himself," Willow said and saw Giles' face brighten at the thought.

"Yes. Well, one lives in hope," Giles said and helped himself to another cookie.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Colorado Springs, Colorado, October 2007**

Captain Benjamin Werner gave some serious thought to stretching, but in the end decided he was way too tired and lay drowsing, smiling happily. For all their very polite conversation and formal, even old-fashioned manners in the restaurant the ladies sure let their hair down in the bedroom. They'd told him they were going to put him through his paces and they hadn't been kidding.

Best Friday night. Ever. On this world, anyway.

He could hear them standing in the bedroom doorway, looking in and talking softly. He gathered this had been a test of some kind. He was hoping rather fervently that he had passed.

One of them, Dyce, he thought, was saying, "You know what the funny thing is, Let? He's an awful lot like the Sarge. Bit more education, but pretty much the same, conservative, courteous, steady, touch of melancholy…"

"Takes direction well in bed."

"There's that. But I thought we were going for a little change of pace."

"He prefers _noir _to westerns…."

"Oh yes, wow, shocking, big difference there…"

"It is actually, but… yes, I see your point. But maybe we just know what we like. It's up to you, if you want to keep looking…."

"No, no, you're right. He's the one we both picked, right off the bat. Must mean something. Shall we?"

"Lets."

They were coming back to bed then, snuggling up beside him, nuzzling his neck.

"Oh, ladies, please," he said. "Have mercy. The mind is willing but the flesh is plumb wore out."

"We know, sweetheart," one said, Letty, he was sure, "you just relax, you've been a good good boy, you just close your eyes, that's a good boy, go to sleep…" she was stroking his hair, whispering in his ear like he was a recalcitrant horse. He sank down, sleepier, their voices lost meaning, became a gentle susurrus, he was floating…

The pain woke him, fast and furious, he tried to throw them off but their grips were like steel and he couldn't move his limbs at all, barely able to squirm a little, he was filled with horror as he felt them feeding, felt his life pulsing away as his heart raced. He tried to fight, tried to cry out but he had no breath, he felt himself weakening, fading. For a moment the stargate appeared in his mind, engaged, shimmering like the very gates of heaven, he was filled with an over-whelming sadness to think he would never again see a new planet, and then the gate began to fall away like a coin tossed in a murky fountain.

Then he felt movement, he was sitting up, Letty's voice at once in his ear and miles away,

"No, sweetheart, not yet, not yet, drink first," he felt his face pressed into soft flesh, tasted a salty fluid on his lips, tickling his tongue, he felt a sudden, raging thirst and began to lick, slurp, then he found the stream and began to suckle madly, hearing better now, her voice,

"Gently, gently sweetheart, there's no hurry now….. Okay, sweets, that's enough."

Felt himself thrust away, for a moment he felt terribly lost, alone and then new hands had him, pulled him in,

"My turn," a voice said, "Come on, Cap, right here," and his lips found the fountain, a new fountain, the same and yet just little a different and he drank again.

A second time he was pulled away, but this time he was pushed down, felt them at his neck again, this time when the darkness came there was no interruption in his descent, there was only blackness and then not even that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Samantha Carter was just reaching to move her knight when Janet Fraiser poked her head in the doorway, said,

"You guys need anything, you know where it is. I'm going to take a nap," and disappeared again.

Carter saw Cassandra was waiting for the sound of the bedroom door closing before she asked,

"Is Mom okay? She's been awful tired this week."

"I'm sure she's fine, it's just…" Carter hesitated. Cassie's clearance was kind of a fuzzy area, born off-planet herself she obviously knew about the Gate and the general operations and it would be silly to pretend otherwise, but that didn't mean she had a need to know the details of missions. She would never intentionally disclose information, Carter was sure, but it took a bit of practice to always guard your tongue, the kind of practice a teenage girl really shouldn't be burdened with. "Well, let's just say one of the teams came back a little changed and your mother had a very heavy research week. But everything's back to normal now. Including, I'm sorry to say, your chess game. Check."

"Crap," Cassie said.

Fifteen minutes later Cassie made a face and tipped her king.

"So, you want to go again or….." Carter started.

"Actually Sam, I think there's something I need to show you." She got out her laptop and turned it on and motioned for Carter to bring her chair around beside hers so she could see the screen. Cassie clicked an icon, clicked skip to bypass the opening graphics, a logon screen popped up and she quickly entered name and password, a window popped up saying something about maps being updated.

"Do me a favor," Cassie said. "Don't tell Mom unless you really think you have to, okay? It's nothing really, but she worries about the stupidest things sometimes."

"Well, I can't promise until I know…."

"I know. Just… well, you'll see. It's just a game. I know it's a little weird but I'm not going strange or anything. "

"What kind of game?"

"An online RPG."

"Really? I didn't think you were into those…" Carter saw the pink blossom on Cassie's cheeks. "Oh."

"I'm not really…" Cassie said.

"But Dominic is, huh?"

"Yeah," Cassie mumbled, then straightened, faced the screen. "But it is kinda fascinating. It's called _"Wherefore art thou, Vampyr? _"

"What?"

"I told you, it's a little weird. I mean, I think it's a little weird. There aren't really things like vampires and werewolves on this planet, are there?"

"No, of course not. Don't be silly. So, how do you play?"

"Right now I'm just logged in in observation mode so we can move around faster, but there's different roles you can play, like Buffy, the Slayer Prime."

"Buffy?" Carter asked.

"Yeah, but you have to get lucky… There can only be one Buffy at a time and it's like, first come first serve, and a lot of people want to play Buffy. All the Scoobies are pretty popular."

"The Scoobies?" Carter said, wondering where in the world this was going and how much she was going to have to tell Janet.

"Yeah, they're like the main good guys. But you kinda have to be logged in all the time to play them. But it's no big, there's lots of other roles and you can make your own. Course a lot of people like to play demons and try to kill them, so if you are playing Buffy you do get killed a lot and have to wait your turn again. But you can be whatever you want, like a vampire or a demon. You can make up your own, or there's a list of demons each with its own sort of encyclopedia entry, with things like how to kill it and what it likes to eat. There's like, types of demons, and individual demons with names." Cassie paused, took breath, tried to regain her blasé tone.

"Or you can be a Slayer yourself. Or a Witch. Even just a human, but that's no fun. But look, that's not what I wanted show you. This whole world is really interactive. They've got some boilerplate forms you use to like make up your own demons, slayers, even maps and upload them and the webmasters will check them out and if they like them they'll incorporate them into the game. And people get really into it. Check this one out…. " A couple clicks brought up an image of a grotesque simian creature, sort of like a gorilla but with an over-large, more human face. With a line of spikes emerging from it's back and three arms on either side.

"Now look," Cassie said. "Doesn't that look like a photograph? See the way it's leaning on the car there and you can see the reflections in the windows and the pool of water. I mean, if someone did that with photoshop they're really, really good. I think they must have made a costume and gone out and taken pictures and then maybe cleaned it up a little. And then they've written this whole biography, like it's name is "Irving" and…

_"Irving?" _

"That what it says, and how he was last seen near this marina in Baltimore and may have stolen a boat…. And there's others, almost like, y'know _wanted _posters sometimes. I know, I know, I'll get to the point. There's this sort of new island on the map, Dominic said he thinks it may have been there since August but he wasn't sure… I hadn't gone there before because it had zombies and things and, well, yuck. But Dominic always likes to check out gross stuff... And well," Cassie clicked a couple times and brought up an image, "What does this remind you of?"

Carter's first instinct was to call Hammond immediately, but her second instinct was to think twice before calling a General at home on Saturday. Especially about a picture in a fantasy role playing game. Cassie had said the new island had been in the game for maybe two months already. A few hours, maybe even days one way or another probably didn't matter. Perhaps the Monday morning briefing would be the best time to bring it up.

She scrolled down, clicked on a couple links to read the information associated with the image Cassie had shown her. Maybe it wouldn't wait, maybe it was already too late… She should at least get a bit more information together first.

"Cassie, how do I get back to the beginning?"

"Shift F4. And then escape if you want to skip the graphics."

But Carter decided to let them run this time, Cassie reached out and unmuted for her and tinny music began to play. At first there were animated images of various creatures, heavy on the fangs, munching on screaming, helpless victims. A rather cheesy voice began to narrate,

"_This world is older than any of you know. Contrary to popular mythology, it did not begin as a paradise. For untold eons demons walked the Earth. They made it their home, their…. Hell." _

A new character appeared, a girl whose hair and skin coloring seemed in constant flux, and began successfully attacking the fanged creatures, some of which seemed explode, others melted away into liguid pools, the voice went on,

"_For as long as there have been vampires, there's been the Slayer. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One." _

On the screen the fighting stopped, the fighting girl turned to face the screen and became two girls, then four, then eight until there was a horizontal line of girls across the screen, the voice went on,

"_Now the One has become Many, No longer does the Slayer fight solely for the World's Survival but to make it truly safe for humankind. But the War with Evil is never over, with every Victory a new battle looms. Come now, if you dare, and join Buffy, the Slayer Prime, Faith the Dark Slayer, Willow the Red Witch, Xander, Who Sees All …"_

With each name a new figure appeared in a dramatic pose, _Buffy_ a tall thin buxom blonde, dressed as if coming off a runway, holding what appeared to be a wooden stake in a fighting pose, _Faith_, a very well-endowed brunette in black leather, brandishing a sword in one hand and a whip in the other, _Willow_ a redhead with lines of lightning emerging from her fingers, _Xander, _a muscular young man in a brightly colored shirt, with a patch over one eye, posing _en garde _with a silver-handled cane with a blade…..

Carter hit the pause button.

"What is it? Cassie asked.

"Oh. Nothing. It's… ridiculous. Nothing." She hit pause again and the voice continued,

_"Giles Who Knows All…"_ a bespectacled man in a tweed suit holding a book,

_"And myself, Andrew the Wise, who tells all," _A handsome, square-jawed male figure rose from the bottom of the screen, animated as if speaking, holding one hand out as if offering the viewer the stake it held, _"join us as we crisscross the globe asking the question, Vampyr, Vampyr, Wherefore Art Thou, Vampyr?" _

A quiet, female, almost childish voice could be heard then, calling out, _"Vampire? Here Vampire…"_ which repeated, fading until the screen cleared and the log-on box came up.

Carter read the FAQ, the credits, the terms, and signed up for a two-week free trial membership and with Cassie's help navigated back to Zombie island and the original picture Cassie had shown her, just be double sure it was still there. It was. Glowing eyes, ribbon device in one upraised hand, done with decent if not great artistry. Pictures of a staff weapon and a zat included in the background information, and this time by pictures she meant _photographs. _And, oh yes, the description of men with snakes in their bellies. She had to call someone. Now.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Janet Fraiser woke from her nap and stretched, went into her bathroom and washed her face, pulled on a robe and went down the hall to peek into the livingroom to see if Sam and Cassie had gotten into one of their marathon chess sessions. She was glad Sam could play chess with Cassie, as Janet herself simply didn't have the interest or the patience necessary for the game.

She took a glance, if they were hard at it she'd just let them play, maybe go read for awhile, she didn't get much chance to do that these days…. What the hell? She started to ask, then caught herself. Coffee first, she thought.

She found Cassie sitting at the kitchen table reading a book, nibbling absent-mindedly on a sandwich.

"Cassie," she said.

"Hey, Mom," Cassie answered. "Good nap?"

"Yes, I feel much better." She filled the coffee pot with coffee and water in the appropriate receptacles, turned it on and heard the first cough and spit of the steam. She sat down beside her adopted daughter,

"Cassie," she said, "what is SG1 doing in the livingroom?"

"Playing an online RPG called _Wherefore Art Thou Vampyr?" _Cassie answered.

"No, seriously," Fraiser said.

"Well, the Colonel is having a little trouble seeing the point of a game with no puck, ball, finish line or much shooting, Teal'c is disturbed by the idea of playing a game with no winners, Sam's trying to trace the servers and Daniel's trying to get Sam to stay on one screen long enough for him to read the Sumerian, so maybe they aren't really playing the game. On the other hand, they are playing their own roles. Matter of definition, I suppose."

-30-

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**A/N**: I am not a gamer, beyond taking a look at the cover art and a brief perusal of the wikipedia article I know nothing of _Chaos Bleeds_ or the other official games. It seems to me unlikely that the graphic intro described above too closely duplicates anything in the actual games, but if anyone knows otherwise I would appreciate it if you'd let me know.

There will be some more description of the game in future, I will try to keep it plausible, if not wholly realistic, but would appreciate any egregious technical errors being pointed out as well.

Thanks, Litmouse.


	5. Chapt 4: Silence of the Fish

**Chapt 4: Silence of the Fish**

**A/N:** See Chapt. 1 for disclaimers, warnings, timelines

**Secrets: A Father Goose Tale**

**A BTVS-SG1 Crossover**

**Chapt 4: Silence of the Fish**

**Council Headquarters, London, June 2007**

"Toby," Giles said looking from his desk as a squeaking board revealed the younger man's presence, "What are you doing here?"

"I just came to get my…"

"Who's with Andrew?" Giles saw the guilt in his assistant's eyes. "Oh bloody hell," Giles said, and threw down his pen, rose with surprising speed, headed for the door, and made it all the way out into the hall and halfway down the first flight of stairs before the fire alarm went off.

Inside the main storage vault Andrew was nonchalantly fiddling with his camera on its tripod, just as if there wasn't a pall of smoke covering the ceiling and a big black circle on the wall where the paneling had been burned away to reveal the hidden, slowly cooling steel.

"Andrew," Giles said calmly, "what happened here?"

"Ah, Mr. Giles," Andrew said, turning as if surprised. "Yes, good, I believe I have made a discovery about these strange weapons."

"What have you discovered, Andrew?" Giles asked.

"That one, the staff, seems to very sensitive to either electrical impulse or bright light because when I triggered the flash it….." he trailed off, looked down a moment, then took a deep breath, straightened shoulders, clenched his jaw, looked Giles in the eye and blurted out,

"I couldn't help it, it was supercool and I'm not sorry and I'd do it again."

"Yes, Andrew," Giles said gently, reaching out to pat the young watcher's well-padded shoulder. "I understand. Our fault for leaving you alone with it. You're not to be blamed."

Giles stepped over to the table where they had set out the artifacts to be photographed, picked up one of the odd, snake-shaped weapons, handed it to Andrew.

"Here," he said. "Why don't you try this one."

"Really? I mean, cool. How does it work?"

"You'll figure it out," Giles said. "Toby will stay and help you. Won't you, Toby?"

For a moment Toby seemed about to speak, his mouth working as he watched Andrew trying to unscrew the snake head. Then he sagged.

"Yes, sir."

"Good man."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Camp Kendra, Cuba, June 2007**

Willow sat at one of the tables by the pool, possessed herself of patience and waited her turn.

She had decided to stay on in Cuba a few days after she 'ported Giles and Corrie back to London. Ostensibly to give Corrie time to find a new place and move her things, but she knew that wasn't the real reason. The real reason was that she needed a little, not much, but some, Xander time. Just needed to touch base.

After staying an extra week in Haiti to help Andre and Jean-Luc set up the house that would be the slayer's base when in Port-au-Prince, Xander and Faith were coming back to Camp Kendra for a few days of R&R. And to pick the four girls who were going to spend the rest of the summer patrolling the islands with them. Which just gave the girls extra incentive to swarm Xander on arrival.

Renee pushed her way in and claimed him first of course, so she could tell him all the important things which had happened to her since he'd seen her last, like how she'd seen a one-legged seagull, and how she'd worn her hair differently for a couple days last week.

Jun Lee had to hike up her bikini and show him how her bullet-pierced buttock was nearly healed and claim the talk she'd told everybody he'd promised her.

He'd seen her there, waiting, and winked, then shrugged helplessly as two more girls pounced and pulled him away to show him some clever move with a sword they'd worked out between them.

"Annoying, isn't it?" a voice said behind her and she turned and for a moment she didn't recognize Faith in a pale blue cotton top and matching skirt. The slayer had a heavily loaded plate in one hand, beer bottle in the other.

"And the worst part is you can't bitch about it," Faith said, setting her plate on the round table and sitting, "'cause that would just be … bitchy. 'Cause he can't help it, and you wouldn't want him to change, anyway, yeah? Bein' reasonable fucking sucks, y'know?"

"I've heard that," Willow answered and Faith laughed. They sat silently for awhile as Faith ate. Then after making a small dent in the mound on her plate and finishing the beer Faith spoke again,

"Speakin' of reasonable, how's Shad been doin'? She okay?"

"Ummm," Willow thought back over the past week. "Yes. A little quiet, but she's always pretty quiet isn't she? Why, did something happen in Haiti?"

"No, nothing special. It's just… well, most of the time in Haiti you know, we didn't have cable, so in the down time, like sitting around after lunch and stuff, Andre and Jean-Luc told us stories about Haiti, the history and shit. And well, it ain't a fucking Disney movie, you know? Slavery, torture, rape and murder, once around the flagpole and do it all again. And most of the girls were, 'Oh, that sucks, is there any more roast goat?' But Shad, it kinda got to her."

"But surely , where she's from, that kind of history wasn't anything new to her?"

"Yeah, well, maybe that was part of it, bringing up stuff from home. But I got the idea that when Xan got her out of whatever fucked up hellhole she was in over there, she just figured that's the way the world was. All fucked up, some folks had it good and some folks didn't and she'd caught herself a lucky break and she was grateful, yeah? But now her English is good enough so she can read newspapers and stuff without struggling and she's starting to look around a bit… see the bigger picture. I mean, it's one thing to go from Upshitcreek Africa to Cleveland and think "cool." It's another to go from Cleveland to Petionville … it's a pretty country, Red, but it is poorer than Fuck's poor cousin Fucked. And it ain't because of the climate, you know? I mean, you think it's an island out the middle of the fucking ocean, no one would care, right? But everybody's fucked with them, the Spanish, the French. Did you know freaking Napolean…." She paused, grinned,

"Don't give me that look, Red, I may not know much but I know fucking _Napoleon, _…. He sent troops, in fact according to Andre one of the reasons we got Louisiana is cause he had troops in Haiti and didn't have enough left to send any up our way. And of course we fucked with them, got all freaked cause when they had the big slave revolt the US was still a slave owning country and we couldn't have any of that shit, could be contagious, yeah? And the Germans… seriously, Red, what the fuck were German's doing fucking around with an island in the Caribbean for fuck's sake? And then we got all freaked by the German's being there we kicked them out and took over for awhile.. 'course Andre also said whenever they weren't being fucked with by outsiders the Haitians got all nostalgic and fucked with each other just to stay in practice." She paused again, stared up in to the twilight sky for a moment.

"Where the fuck was I?"

"Shad."

"Yeah, right. So that's thing, it's frustrating as hell when you want to beat the fuck out of people who been dead for fifty years. Dead _and _buried, I mean. Or a hundred and fifty. And Shad, she's got all this power, she can pick up a damn bus, and there's nothing she can do about those poor kids running around in rags in the street. I figure as long as she had demons and vamps and zombies to whale on she'd be okay, but maybe when she got back here she might go a little _sproing…_"

"No," Willow said. "She seems calm enough." But then, she thought with a pang, maybe I wasn't paying close enough attention to the quiet one? "She has been reading a lot, Irina's got an interesting library. Lot of political stuff."

"Yeah, well, here's the thing. Xan can always calm her down. And Renee's good for her, makes her laugh. I just dunno, maybe we need to keep her with us, or need to, you know, send her to meditation school with you, make her learn to keep it together on her own? Hell, maybe send her to Dawn and get her real fired up, yeah?" Faith laughed. "Hey, I need a beer, you want anything?"

"No, thanks," Willow said and Faith gathered her plate and headed for the house.

Well, Willow thought, a history no, make that a _fucking_ history lesson, from Faith. Would wonders never cease. A bit dadaist, but still. And Faith, taking care of her girls' mental health. She made a note to be sure and seek out Shad in the morning, and really listen this time.

And then finally it was her turn, Xander came and took her arm,

"Hurry," he said, "I threw something shiny in the pool, we might get away if we run for it."

They walked a little ways down the beach and sat quietly for a little while, Willow leaning on his shoulder.

"So," he said, "the stately Corinth is of the past?"

"Yes, I sent her back on Sunday with Giles."

"You're not overly heartbroken, I take it?"

"No. I'm more sad about not being sad, you know?"

"Uhuh. Not to belabor the obvious, but have you considered maybe hooking up with someone who isn't magical? Somebody who might think what you can do is cool and not intimidating?"

"Gee, no Xan, never occurred me. New topic, please? Faith talked to me about Shad. She's changed."

"Yeah. Oh yeah, now that's getting confident with her English she's really…."

"I meant Faith."

"Yes. Well, they say age and experience will do that. She has a good heart, Will, under all the 'tude."

"I'm seeing that… I don't know if we'll ever braid each other's hair, but I'll try too…"

"It's okay, Will, things are fine. You get too nice it'll just freak her out. How is everything in the land of tea?"

"Much the same, Giles says hi, by the way. Sorry he missed you but something was pressing. As there often is."

"And the peace and nirvana farm, crops coming up nicely? Enlightenment ripening, wisdom a little behind this year but should finish strong if the weather holds?"

She hit him lightly on the arm. "Haha," she said. "No," she said, "actually. Not doing well at all really. Sometimes I can see it, Xan, in my mind, like a shining curving road, spiraling ever-upward, a path, _the _path, to where the Goddess lives. And I know, I just have to follow, steady as she goes and I will find it, _Peace. _And then sometimes I can't see the way at all. And sometimes it's a dark road, overrun with weeds and draped with skeletons. The Earth is not a peaceful place Xan. It seems nice and quiet here, but if I listen, if I let myself reach out I can hear the fish screaming as they eat one another and rip at the plants. The coven would have me sit in a meadow and meditate, but, like the famous quote says, a meadow is a battlefield, all the plants fighting and struggling to find their place in the sun. They tell me that's the point, to learn to find the quiet amidst the war, but I'm not sure they hear what I hear."

"It's the damn butterflies, isn't it?" he said, after a moment had passed. "Wings going all the time, whap-whap-whap. Whap-whap-whap. Whap-whap-whap…"

"Smartass," she said, "Don't know why I tell you anything," but she was laughing.

"Well, maybe you ought to get out of there for awhile. Take a tour of the Slayer houses we've been setting up. Meet some of the girls on their turf. Good for both you and them. Spend a little time in a Panama City traffic jam and maybe the grass won't seem so noisy."

"I don't know. Maybe. … I'll think about it."

Back at the house she could hear Javier tuning his guitar, then beginning to play. She slid around and draped one arm around Xander's neck, wrapped the other around his waist, pulled him back against her and laid her face on his shoulder and she listened to the vampire's light six string melodies dance over the steady bass beat of Xander's heart.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Stargate Command, Colorado, October 2007**

SG1 reconvened in Sam's lab after Janet Fraiser got fed up with having her living room invaded and threw them out. Initially Sam had wanted to, temporarily, confiscate Cassandra's computer, but with her Mom's help, including a threat of extra needles next check-up Cassie won that argument…

"Sam, it's got all my homework on it. For crying out loud, everything you're worried about on that computer I downloaded off the internet!"

…but only after promising to delete the pictures and not play the game again until she got the all clear.

On their arrival they had called General Hammond at home only to find he'd already been called in to the base for an emergency. A call to his office revealed he'd left the base on that same emergency but would back later in the day. They requested a meeting at the General's earliest convenience and set to work.

Sam set about tracing the game servers again, faring better with the tools available to her at the lab. At the same time she began trying to track down and verify the biographical information given on the background screens for the "Scoobies," starting with "Xander" and "Faith." After about fifteen minutes she opened a drawer, found an aspirin bottle and took four.

Teal'c began doing background reading on the history of role-playing games, Daniel joined the game as a Junior Watcher named Daniel and was invited to tag along with a group who were exploring an abandoned town on what seemed to be a Greek island. He was attacked and eaten by something called _Vrykolakas _within ten minutes but a friendly, if slightly sarcastic text message popped up telling him how to rejoin the group and included a few tips labeled _"Rule Number One: Don't Die." _

Colonel O'Neill began by reading through a few of the demon descriptions and then, when he saw that the others were fully engrossed in their tasks, pulled up a second screen that featured, among other things, digital air hockey. It was, after all, an online game. He began to study it.

Eventually an Airman appeared at the door and informed them the General had returned and would see them in the briefing room at eighteen-thirty hours.

Simultaneously Sam and Jack checked their watches, startled to realize how much time had passed.

"Umm, Colonel, guys," Carter said, 'before we see the General could I run something by you? 'Cause if he decides to put me in a rubber room I want you all there with me."

"Ah, Carter, I'm touched," Jack said. "Go ahead. Teal'c, Daniel."

"I am listening, O'Neill," Teal'c replied.

"Daniel," Jack said. ….. "Daniel?"

"Huh, what? Oh, just sec…. We've found some ancient tablets in Hittite…I just want to... " he trailed of, staring at he screen and scribbling on a notepad.

"Daniel," Jack said, with exaggerated patience, then less so, "Daniel!"

"What?"

"Say good-bye to your imaginary friends and listen to Carter."

"Here," Carter said, leaning over Daniel's shoulder, "you can print the screen."

"Oh, right, thanks…. Just let me log off, I don't want to get killed when I'm not paying attention."

"No, wouldn't want that," Jack said.

Daniel typed briefly, spun back around, "Yes, Jack, what is it?" Jack gestured toward Carter. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sam, what is it?"

Carter took a deep breath. "First not saying anything yet about…" she paused, forced it out, "superpowers, or vampires or what have you, but these "Scoobies" Xander, Faith, Buffy, Willow and Giles, seem to be real people."

"What?" Jack said.

"I mean presumably they created the game and modeled the characters after themselves…. But, there seems to be this whole sub-culture, either based on the game, or maybe the game grew out of the sub-culture…but there's other web-sites and chatrooms and blogs where people write about them as if they were real, with full names. Xander L. Harris, Willow Rosenberg, Buffy Summers, Rupert Giles, who is a British national. Faith… seems to have had a lot of names. The first three supposedly grew up in Sunnydale, California…"

"Wait, that's the …

"Town that imploded for no apparent reason a few years ago. Yes. And of course a lot of records were destroyed, but the state DMV has records for Harris, Rosenburg, Summers and Giles, Immigration has records of Giles living there and working first as a school librarian, then as owner of retail shop called 'The Magic Box.' The IRS records seem to verify that."

"Wait, you have access to the IRS?" Jack asked.

"Yes, though maybe we don't need to mention that to the General."

"Yes, of course, but what I mean …. Can you … make changes?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, Colonel. I was saying, Mr. Giles choice of employment seems odd, given that prior to that he was a curator at the British Museum…"

"What?" Daniel said, then turned and began working at his terminal. Carter went on.

"In the game of course Giles is the head of an organization called the 'Watcher's Council' which apparently does actually exist…."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Carter," Jack said, turning to his own terminal for a moment, closed the arcade games screen and pulled up a couple from the RPG, read out loud, _"The Watcher's Council World Headquarters is housed in an invisible zeppelin which most often can be found, by those in the know, hovering over greater London, often tethered to Big Ben….._ an invisible zeppelin, Carter?"

In reply Carter set the phone on her desk to speaker and dialed a number, waited, a machine picked up, a voice spoke,

"Hello, you've reached the North American Headquarters of the Watcher's Council, if this is an emergency please scream or press one ….. if this is not an emergency, please leave a message and a method of contact and we will get back to you. If you would like to be contacted by one of the regional offices, be sure to make that request and include your location in the message. Thank you and be safe. ….._ beeep._" Carter reached out and disconnected.

"Well, so what?" Jack said, "You probably get a call back from some desperate housewife trying to sell you …vampire insurance or, uh, real estate in fairyland." He reached over to Carter's phone and pressed redial, waited as the machine answered and the message, started,

"Hello, you've reached the North American Headquarters of the Watcher's Council, if this is an emergency please scream or press one …..

_"Aaaauuuugh!" _Jack screamed, and Daniel, who had been hunched over his keyboard leaped up, turned, tense,

"What the hell was that?!"

"I was screaming."

"Why?"

"Well anybody can press one."

Daniel turned to Carter, "Should that make sense to me?" he asked, Carter hushed him as what seemed to be girl's voice answered,

"Watchers, what's your emergency?"

"Umm, I've got vampires," Jack said.

"How many and how close?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Can you see them? Can they see you? …. Are you in immediate danger?"

"Not immediate…"

The girl sighed. "Sir, this is an emergency line, if you are in genuine fear for your life, I'll try to help you. Just tell me where you are and what the sitch is, don't worry if it seems weird or unbelievable, we'd much rather save you from a bit of plastic caught in the wind then find you dead 'cause you were too embarrassed to tell me what you saw. But if you're just screwing around, get the fuck off the emergency line. Now, let's start with your name?"

"Robert Kinsey," Jack said. "And you are…"

"I'm Vi, now what is…"

"Vi, how much do you charge to save people from vampires?"

"I see." the girl sighed again. "There's no charge for genuine emergencies. If you have genuine questions, please call the main number again. I have traced your number, sir, if you call the emergency line without an emergency from this number again we'll…." She paused…. "I see, we'll either notify your commanding officer, or, if we happen to be in a bad mood, come out there and shove that phone up your ass. Have a nice day."

"Wait a minute," Jack said after a moment, "isn't that a secure phone? She shouldn't be able to trace it, right?"

"Well, it certainly should take more than your average caller-id," Carter answered. "Why, worried it won't fit?" she added with a smile. And a slightly suggestive gesture.

"Ha, ha," Jack said.

"The young woman seemed most sincere," Teal'c said. "Is it possible that these vampires do exist?"

"No," Jack said.

"But it's very possible _she_ believes they exist," Daniel said

In the silence that followed Carter reached over to her desk and picked up one the many print-outs she had been collecting. "That number is an 800 number that leads to a commercial answering service in Cleveland. This," she said, "is a copy of Mr. Alexander Lavelle Harris's current Ohio driver's license, showing an address in Cleveland, which turns out to belong to the Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls, which is owned by the Watcher's Council of London, England. You'll also note it shows him missing his left eye. And that's as far as I've got, I've haven't had time to check into the others so far. At first glance, Faith seems to be a bit of a ghost, Giles, Rosenberg and Summers are living overseas, I thought I'd wait until we spoke to General Hammond before putting in any official request for information from the CIA. One more thing, Colonel, your clearance is even higher than mine, isn't it?"

"I think we're both about as high as it goes, Carter."

"Would you do a search on the DOD database for any of those names, sir."

"Okay, that could just mean they were part of some special project," Jack said after getting the _access denied_. "Just cause we have high clearance doesn't mean we have need to know. Could be diplomatic issues or…"

"That's my point, sir. You didn't just draw a blank. _Someone_ knows something about these people, and they want it kept secret. That means there _is something to know. _And now we're getting to the part I want you guys check me on…."

"So you'll have company in the rubber room. Oh, I think we're all there already," Jack said.

"You remember last week when were stuck in the snowbank…."

"Ohmigod," Daniel said.

"… and we were rescued by a couple teenage girls," she laid a picture of Faith from the game on the desk, "and a brunette wearing black leather named _'Faith, _'" she laid out a picture of Xander with his silver-handled cane, "and her cold California boy boyfriend named _Xan, _who had a cane with a blade. You'll note that, according to the game bios, Faith and Xander are a couple now….

"Yeah," Jack said, looking at his terminal again, "who ride around on a BMW GS motorcycle with a rocket engine and expandable wings allowing it to fly and inflatable pontoons and a rear tire that can be converted into a propeller …." But his voice was not quite as sarcastic as before.

"Even such a wonderful vehicle as that would be most unpleasant in the snow, O'Neill," Teal'c observed.

"And perhaps most importantly," Carter continued, 'they seemed to recognize Teal'c as being unusual, and a potential threat, just by looking at him. I have a theory."

"Do tell," Jack said.

"These 'vampires' in the game, they're described as having faces that change, eyes that turn yellow… glowing eyes could give that effect. They are also described as people who have been taken over by demons, the same, and yet, colder, cruel, indifferent to human suffering….."

"Yes, that would make sense. And the time it takes for the blending, that could seem like death," Daniel added. "Perhaps there are even sarcophagi, that accounts for the stories of Dracula rising from his grave, and needing to sleep in his coffin. And of course the Goa'uld entering through the neck…Maybe they started the stories, or just took advantage."

"Yeah," Jack said, really, really not liking where this was going, 'but the Goa'uld, not really known for hiding in the shadows…"

"Yes," Daniel obliviously jumping in before Carter could speak, "but what if the _only_ humans you had ever met were leaders. Politicians, generals, dictators. You have a very different view of humans than you'd have if you had only met, say college professors. Or musicians. Our view of the Goa'uld could be just as skewed. The Tok-ra are different. Maybe there are Goa'ulds who are in between, who are not megalomaniacs like Apophis but not all that nice, either. Content to be monsters instead of Gods. Or small gods. Or hell, maybe they're just the losers, like Seth. He wasn't exactly taking the world by storm."

"And the 'Scoobies,' maybe they're their leaders, who are trying to keep their people in line so they don't attract too much attention," Carter said. "Perhaps they've made some sort of deal, to limit the damage in return for hosts…."

"Or possibly they are like the Tok-ra, more equally blended man and symbiote who are fighting their more unscrupulous cousins…. That would explain their strength _and_ their casually human behavior…

"But I did not detect the presence of Goa'uld, and neither, I believe, did Major Carter…" Teal'c noted.

"Well, the "Scoobies" could be something else, or maybe they're just sufficiently different you didn't recognize them or they've found a way to mask the naquadah. Or maybe they're still just human but enhanced somehow…"

"So you're saying that maybe we've had a big Goa'uld war going on under our noses all this time?" Jack complained, "Someone would have to know… "

"Maybe someone does. The British perhaps. We didn't tell them about the Stargate, why would they tell us about aliens? Or maybe they don't realize they're aliens? Maybe they think they _are_ vampires? If we discovered vampires, would we tell the world?" Daniel asked. He went on,

"Who knows about the Stargate, Jack?" Daniel said, smiling, "The people on this base, a few politicians? Does the Army know, the Navy? Homeland Security? If the Air Force can keep secrets, why not the other services? Even if the President knew about both, maybe he'd think we didn't need to know."

The Airman appeared in the doorway again, "The General is ready for you now," he said.

"Oh, I really doubt that," Jack said, "I really do."

**-30-**


	6. Chapter 5: Another Saturday Night

**Chapter 5: Another Saturday Night**

**A/N: **See Chapt. 1 for disclaimers, warnings, timelines

Secrets: A Father Goose Tale  
A BTVS-SG1 Crossover

Chapter 5: Another Saturday Night 

**Rome, Italy, Oct 2007**

Andrew had that damn conga rhythm in his head now.

_Bumpa bumpa bump –PAH Bumpa bumpa bump –PAH_

God, what silly bastard had started that up? And Claudio wasn't helping, still dancing as they entered the hallway, a little tipsy but still graceful, beautiful.

_Bumpa bumpa bump –PAH Bumpa bumpa bump –PAH_

Andrew had been worried the first time Claudio had come home with him, that it was some ploy, some attempt to get in the apartment to either attack Buffy or steal her underwear. (It had taken weeks for Buffy to forgive him for Tino. And Tino hadn't even stolen anything, just arranged to have himself photographed coming out of their building with his arms full of cheap lingerie he'd bought at a discount store (which was, Andrew believed, what _really_ pissed Buffy off). Tino had slept on the pile of dainties for a couple nights to get them authentically wrinkled and then tried to sell them on the black market has having "Once caressed the delicate flesh of the Slayer Prime." Poor Tino, thinking he was just ripping off some geeky perv's, not really believing in vampires, or understanding the depth and precision of their olfactory capacities. Ah well, as ye sow, so shall ye reap.

That saying still bothered Andrew, just a little, sometimes. But I've been Good a lot longer that I was Evil, he insisted to himself and most of the time he managed to believe that it would be enough. Most of the time.

Claudio worried him because Andrew could get all spiffed up and look in the mirror and convince himself that he was a fine lookin' fellow, but Claudio was something else, the liquid eyes, the wide-shoulders the musical movement of his slim hips… and he could be a little prima donna at times, but mostly he was sweet, bringing over the fresh pages of his truly … mundane and mediocre graphic novel for Andrew to try his best to praise and gently criticize. And spend the rest of the day reading classics from Andrew's comics library, and, except for the one horrifying incident with the melting chocolate he'd treated Andrew's babies with care.

And it had been three weeks now and Andrew was pretty sure Claudio hadn't even noticed there was anything unusual about his roommates.

Now in the elevator Claudio paused his gyrations and let Andrew lean against him, the pair swaying slightly together as the old machinery clunked along, then cruelly whispered in his ear just as they reached their floor,

_"Bumpa bumpa bump –PAH Bumpa bumpa bump –PAH" _

And ran laughing away down the hall to wait outside the apartment door for Andrew to punch in the code. When they were inside he started up again, singing and bouncing along toward the bedroom, stripping as he went. He had that tendency, to run around the apartment naked or nearly so, Andrew had apologized to Dawn profusely but she'd simply grinned at him,

"We'll cope, Andrew, somehow we'll cope."

In Andrew's room Claudio dived on the bed and stretched himself out in one of the Michelangelo poses he liked to strike from time to time. Letting the moment play Andrew took off and carefully folded his coat and started on his tie, making his habitual stop at his workstation, looked over the various diagnostic screens….

Well, now. There were always a few yellow warnings, triggered as the fools tried to challenge Andrew the Wise and find a few cheats or a secret path to the Holiest of Grail's, Faith's fabled nude vid, rumored to be a spectacular kata performed in its entirety _au naturel _and hidden in an elegant tapestry draped dojo that moved about the various virtual landscapes, traveling either randomly or following some logic of it's very own. Many claimed to have caught a glimpse, a flicker of flesh and then an empty room, some claimed to have seen it in detail and were widely disbelieved. Perhaps it was only rumor, perhaps it was there… Andrew the Wise when asked would only smile and look into the distance, as if recalling a fond memory, or, Faith would have it, as if passing gas.

Once or twice a month someone with serious skill tried to peek behind the curtain and triggered a red warning light, but tonight there were two reds and a purple blinking up at him. Still a long way from the meat and potatoes, but a good effort, worth taking at least a quick look. Before one of the assistants he had reluctantly taken on when the game had simply got too big for him to handle alone beat him to it.

He pulled his chair over, sat, began running the logs, his mind still trapped.

"Cassie Cassie Cass-EEE, Cassie Cassie Cass-EEE, what are you after, Cassie?"

And then his trace left Colorado Springs and moved up the mountain. Andrew felt his heart pick up speed. NORAD was supposed to be on Petersen now but obviously they wouldn't just let the Cheyenne Mountain complex just sit there. "Warm stand-by," my ass, he thought. So, was this something official or just a military geek playing with his cool taxpayer paid toys?

Oh, he thought, as he hit a firewall, think you've pulled your head in, do you? We'll see about that. He started to reach for Willow's Little Black Book, also known among the Watcher's Council's small circle of geeks as the Red Laxative (because, among other things, the spells collected there opened a backdoor and kept it open. Obviously.) then hesitated. He had his own tricks. No, he thought. I can do this. Oh, yes, dare to challenge Andrew the Wise and suffer the consequences….

He felt Claudio's arms around his shoulders.

"Coming to bed?"

"Can't right now. Working. Important."

"More important than me?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Andrew was vaguely aware of Claudio sitting and contemplating the concept, then felt him move away. To bed and sleep, Andrew hoped, more likely to pout and stomp out, but it didn't matter. Andrew was busy. He was halfway up a mountain and he was going all the way.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Stargate Command, Colorado, Oct 2007**

They had been sitting in the conference room for a couple of minutes when the General came in and took his usual seat at the head of the table with a heavy sigh. He rubbed his hand over his smooth pate and looked around at them, then sat back in his chair.

"We-el," he said, the hint of Texas in his voice a little stronger than usual. "I don't suppose an emergency meeting with SG1 on a Saturday night is likely to be good news, but I don't mind telling you, if you'all have come up with some asses that need kicking I might welcome the change. There will be a bulletin in the morning. Captain Benjamin Werner of SG19 was found dead this morning, the victim of an apparent single car accident. And when I say _apparent, _I'm afraid I mean exactly that. Deputy Sheriff Johnson and the local coroner are sure the accident was staged. They said it was made to look as if he had cut his throat going through the windshield and bled out. The sheriff said it was a good professional job and he might never have noticed anything wrong if he hadn't been looking for it."

"Looking for what, sir?"

"The wounds in the neck and the lack of blood. It seems there have been a number of deaths in the area recently involving odd injuries to the neck and varying degrees of exsanguination…."

"What?" Daniels said.

"Blood loss, Dr. Jackson…."

"Yes, I know the term, I was just … never mind. Sorry. You were saying…."

"Yes," General Hammond continued, "In Captain Werner's case the coroner is convinced that while his neck was cut open with glass from the windshield, the cut was made after death and was done to cover evidence of the original, presumably fatal wounds. And while it was impossible given the elements to make a definitive measurement, the sheriff is sure there wasn't enough blood at the scene to explain the condition of the body. I'll spare Dr. Fraiser her Saturday night, but I've had the body brought on base and I'll ask her to have a look tomorrow, but I've no reason to doubt the findings. The sheriff is worried that he has a serial killer on his hands, but he did point out that the Captain's case didn't really fit the pattern. The other victims have all been … marginal people, transients, homeless, a couple semi-pro barflies. Also they were just … discarded, their wounds crude slashes. Obviously Captain Werner's death may have nothing to do with Stargate Command but we certainly can't afford to make that assumption. ….. Colonel Talbert will be heading our investigation. In the meantime, you watch your backs…. So. What brings you here on another Saturday night?"

"Sir," Carter said, "before we get started, I would like to point out that it was Cassie Fraiser who brought this to our attention. It was heads up thinking on her part and I'd like to recommend she get recognition of some kind…"

Hammond looked over at his shoulder at his assistant who was sitting with notepad in hand and nodded. "Noted, Major," he said, "carry on."

"Thank you, sir. Cassie and her boyfriend were playing what is known as a MMORPG, or Massive Multi-player Online Role Playing Game…. You may be familiar with the _'America's Army'_ game…?"

"I know of it, yes, so you're talking about recruiting tool….?"

"Umm, well, possibly, sir, but that's not our main concern at the moment. The game is much more… open and unstructured then the Army game, and the thing to remember sir is that it contains content that may be provided by the players. The game involves players interacting with one another in sundry virtual environments in the guise of various fantasy figures, heroes and monsters….

"Carter," Jack said, "show him the pictures….."

"Yes, sir." On the big display screen at the end of the conference table she brought up the animated images of what appeared to be a Gou'ald host with glowing eyes, a similar rendering of a Jaffa, and what appeared to be photographs of a zat, a staff weapon, and a Gou'ald hand device. Carter had also found drawings of both an adult Goa'uld and a larvae, the coloring indicating the immature Goa'uld was old enough to have been implanted in a Jaffa for some time.

"Holy …!!" Hammond exclaimed. "These are just out there, in the clear…..?"

"Available to anyone with an internet connection," Carter said.

"And a lot of free time on their hands," Jack added.

"Do we know how?" Hammond asked,

"Not yet," Jack said.

"No," Carter answered, "We do have three scenarios….. I should point out that the information accompanying the pictures is either incomplete or inaccurate. In fact the text explicitly solicits anyone having more information to submit it to the site, there's even a small reward offered. There is no mention of the Stargate. They seem to recognize the Goa'uld as parasites but only speculate as to whether they are intelligent or affect a host's behavior. They do seem do recognize them as not being of Earth, however their speculations incline toward a magically opened interdimensional portal rather than outer space. On the whole the game and its players are more inclined to produce supernatural rather than scientific rationales…." She paused, as if to give everyone a moment to roll their eyes, then went on,

"They do seem to have accurate information about the effects of a zat and a staff weapon, but no notion of naquadah as an energy source. "

"You mentioned three scenarios, Major?" Hammond said wearily.

"Best case scenario is that someone with legitimate access to information about the Goa'uld is playing the game, wants to make an impression but lacking the imagination to create their own monster used the Goa'uld, figuring no one would notice, and disguising their knowledge by giving incomplete information…."

She paused. She thought General Hammond had …growled? Perhaps not. If this did turn out to be some game-playing Second Lieutenant there was going to be nothing left but his smoking boots when the General was done..

"More likely," she continued, "someone with legitimate access has told their family rather more than we would like them too about their jobs, and their children are playing the game. The child may not even realize he is divulging classified information."

"Well, that should be simple enough to determine, we just need to get a list of the players and check it against ….."

"Uhh," Carter grimaced, "I'm not sure that's actually that simple, sir. I'm not sure we can count on the people running the game to be cooperative, sir."

Hammond grinned, "Oh, I think we might find ways to encourage them…"

"With all due respect sir, it's not run by two guys in a basement, or by a commercial US company we could pressure in the usual manner. I've already run into some very impressive encryption and security measures… With your permission, I'd actually like to come back to that aspect later…."

"Of course, Major."

"The second scenario is that we've stumbled across another Seth, a Goa'uld playing God on a smaller scale. Someone playing the game could have first hand knowledge, or may have simply heard stories. In fact, one can even infer from the information that the Goa'uld may have run afoul of some local warlord and lost a battle, and may already be dead."

"That's my favorite theory," Jack said. "And all we have to do is wait until the staff and the zat show up on ebay and we can track down the seller and confirm it."

"Sir, the information suggests the Goa'uld may be impersonating a voodoo or animist deity, and is on an island. It's a bit of a long shot, but I would like your permission to query the CIA regarding cults in the Caribbean, particularly cults that may have been in violent conflicts in the last year or two. I think I can word it so they will have no idea what we really after."

"Of course, Major, write up the request and send it through my office. But won't it be simpler to go straight to the source?"

"Yes,sir. But as I was saying earlier, simple may not be the right word. Let me explain, we've been talking about this as one game, but it is actually many games. Lets say you have fifty people playing bingo, they're all playing the same game. But if you took the same fifty people and gave them ten copies of a board game, say, _Risk, _with five players for each board, you still have fifty people playing Risk, but they're not all playing the same game. This game is the set up the same way, just with servers instead of boards."

"Okay, I'm with you so far."

"I have been able to physically locate the nearest server, in Denver. It seems to be in a house near UC Denver, currently being rented by four UCD students. But according to the site there are additional servers in Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Austin, Kansas City … Cleveland, Chicago, New York, Miami, and so on. Also in a number major cities in Europe, In Asia, a few in Africa …and those are the one's they're telling us about. All of which may or may not have the same maps, pictures and so on."

"So the point is," Jack chimed in, "if we seize the Denver server all we do is piss them off."

" Every time I've tried to access one of the other servers I've been re-directed back to Denver. Which… is a bit puzzling because I did make some attempts at routing through other nodes so the game should have seen me as logging in from a different location, I'm not entirely sure how it knew to throw me back to Denver…. There is a procedure where you request to log-on to a specific server… for example if I wanted to play with a friend who lives in a different area, but that is only available after you've been a registered user for two months…."

"They're screening…." Jack said.

"Presumably. But it does mean that somewhere there is a master list. Now, with a bit of time we should be able to locate all the public servers, even if, as a worst case scenario, we had to do it by sending someone to physically trace the server in each area. But even if we located them all, seizing them all would be difficult and certainly illegal and diplomatically complicated in several countries at least. And still wouldn't account for however many players have downloaded the information onto their own hard drives, just as we did. The genie is out of the bottle, sir. The only saving grace is that they don't seem to know it. Yet."

"So we've got a catch twenty-two. If we attempt to contain the breach we only draw attention to it?"

"Exactly."

"It's a joke," Daniel exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson," Hammond said, "I'm not sure I'm seeing the humor in the situation."

"What? Oh. No, I was, well, I knew what Sam was going to say so…so I've been translating this… umm, well, while I was playing… _investigating_ the game earlier I came across a scroll that seemed to be written in a cuneiform script, in Hittite, a language that's more less been out of use since 1100 BC. And well, originally I assumed that it was either something copied out of a book or simply some random symbols stuck together for verisimilitude. But it's … a knock knock joke. It's hard to explain, it's sort of a visual pun … since it's written in a pictographic…" he trailed off as the stares around him grew blanker, "It means that someone is in that game is fluent in…. We could just ask them."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson, you've lost me," Hammond said.

"Well, I don't think there's any reason necessarily to see these people as hostile. I mean the most important thing is to find out if there is a Goa'uld or even a number of Goa'uld loose on Earth, right?"

"That is a point," Jack said.

" I mean it's very possible I could just call them up and say hey, I was playing your game last night and I really liked that picture of the guy with the glowing eyes where'd you get the idea for that……they might tell me," Daniel continued. "Especially if it was uploaded by one of the players, they might be absolutely dying to tell me all about it."

"Well, we may give that a try, Dr. Jackson, " Hammond said, "but in the first place, I just hate the idea of the United States Air Force being held hostage and having to go cap in hand to these ….." he paused, searching for the right pejorative and coming up empty,

"Nerds…?" Jack suggested, "Geeks? Eggheads? … No offense, Carter."

"Sir?"

" … people," the general finally expelled, "and meaning no disrespect, Dr. Jackson, but if these people are as sophisticated as the Major says they are, I hate to approach them with nothing in my armory but your big blue eyes."

"Don't underestimate the eyes, sir," Jack said. "The whole puppydog thing, sir, sometimes it's quite effective."

"I've no doubt."

"Or we could offer them something in trade, sir?" Daniel continued.

"What, like a free trip through the Stargate?" Jack said.

"Well, yes. That might buy a lot of cooperation."

"I bet we could get double for the return trip, easy," Jack said thoughtfully.

"Well, I'll take that idea under advisement, Dr. Jackson," Hammond said skeptically. "Still, I'd like to know whole lot more about this situation before taking any precipitate action. Carter I want you to keep digging, find out just as much about these people, who they are, where the money comes from, where it goes, the whole nine yards. You need any help, equipment, warm bodies, you just ask. We'll start round the clock surveillance on this server in Denver …and anywhere else you think appropriate. Now, anything else you need to tell me?"

"Um, well, yes sir, one or two things," Jack added reluctantly. "For one thing, Carter, I don't think you told the General the name of this game yet, did you?"

"No, sir."

"Well, Carter, I think you should tell the General the name of the game. And maybe that other little theory you…."

"_We_, sir," Carter said.

"Allright, but if we're _all_ locked in the loony bin who's going to bring us candy on visitor's day, Carter, did you think of that? Fine, the other little theory _we _discussed….

Jack watched the General's head turn from dull pink and move upward towards a fine crimson glow. He'd seen the General's head that red once before. Christmas, he thought it was, the General had been playing Santa Claus. And wearing a hat.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Colorado Springs, Colorado, October 2007**

Leticia looked in the last cabinet, stood hands on hips and hmmphed. "He's not here," she said.

"They must have taken him to the base," Ardyce said. She walked down to the end of the morgue to the coroner's office, reached up and took the spare key off the ledge above the door, undid the lock and put the key back. She went inside and flipped through the log. "I'll be damned," she said. "A general came and signed him out. You don't suppose all that, 'Sorry, I can't talk about that, it's classified,' stuff was true do you?"

"May be. this could be interesting. Where'd did they take him?"

"Cheyenne Mountain."

"Oh. Well. Oh. That's … I don't know, Ardy, I think it might be way too easy to get trapped in there."

"Don't be silly, Let. We're not going in there. If he's so secret agent man he'll find his own way out. You know where he'll be. But I have had it with these Denver punks. Look at this," she waved a pair of photographs under Leticia's nose, "sloppy, sloppy. Look, that one, you can see the fang marks. Idiot." She carefully put the papers back where she found them and the two vampires slipped silently back out of the familiar confines of the county morgue. They were using Ardyce's jeep since Leticia's truck was too distinctive for anything remotely covert. Leticia pulled the map out of the glove compartment.

"Okay," she said, "there's the Mexican group in the old Mcartner place. Those Bloods, or Hoods or Spuds or whatever they call themselves in the warehouse on sixth." She check off a couple more items in a little notebook. "Really all we need to do is find the Lakewood group and we've got the full set located."

"Fine, let's take an hour to look around, then go see if lover boy made it out. What's in the basket?" She added as the engine started up.

"Let's see," Leticia opened the woven willow top and peered in, "I've got two bratwurst and mustard, two bacon and egg, one PB and J. A couple Heinekens, a Brown Cow and two Dr. Peppers. Two bags O-pos and one B-pos.

"Gimme a brat and a beer then. You can have the B if you want it, I'm a little off B at the moment, for some reason."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Rome, Italy, October 2007**

Dawn pushed the door shut behind her and sagged against it, the music still ringing in her ears. It had been a good party. She'd filled her Saturday night. She missed Tippin. She understood, he needed to make his own place. He was a Watcher now, if he'd stayed in Rome he'd never be more than part of Buffy's entourage, or, at best, Mr. Dawn. Maybe a couple years down the line, when he'd seen his slayers through a few battles on his own they could try again. Maybe. Unlikely. He'd meet someone. She would.

In the meantime it was important to fill her Saturday nights, with noise and fury if nothing else. She heard the TV in the livingroom and was surprised to find Claudio there asleep on the couch, stretched out in his tiny red briefs. Dawn allowed herself a lascivious moment of art appreciation before moving on. Such a waste, she thought. On _Andrew, _of all people. Then chided herself, that's mean. Andrew works hard. He deserves a bit of fun. If he could pull a piece of eye candy like Claudio without using a love spell (he hadn't, she'd checked) more power to him.

It was just that, no matter how hard he worked, he was still Andrew.

Speaking of power, walking down the hall toward her room she noticed there was a suggestion of incense in the air, a reddish light under the crack of Andrew's door.

She knocked lightly , then peered in. He was sitting at the workstation, bathed in the mixed glow of light, cool and blue from the computer screens, red and warm from the candles, the incense aroma no longer a mere suggestion but a physical presence in the room, his flute was sitting on the desk. He was rocking back and forth, almost autistically.

Oh boy. She walked carefully up beside him, he was singing softly to himself, she listened, puzzled,

"Chappa chappa ai-AI, chappa chappa ai-AI, wormhole wormhole worm-HOLE wormhole wormhole worm-HOLE…."

"Andrew?" she said carefully, he turned to face her grinning madly, the tears running down his cheeks.

"Dawnie," he said, "it's real. It's all real. I'd heard stories, rumors, but you always do. But it's real. We're going to need more storage space, there's masses and masses of data….

"Andrew…Andrew, _what's_ real?"

"That's an alien," he pointed, she looked, on one of his screens a picture of a wormlike creature rotated slowly, "That's an alien from outer space," he said, and then the rarely profane Andrew, his voice deeply bitter, added, "I've never been so fucking disappointed in my life."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Stargate Command, Colorado, October 2007**

Major Samantha Carter shook the aspirin bottle over her palm without result, she held it to her eye and peered in. Yep, empty. She leaned back, massaged her tired face with the back of her hands, allowed her self a brief moment of self-pity. She had the sneaking suspicion that the course of her career in the Air Force was going to be depend on the existence of vampires. Or at least Goa'uld pretending to be vampires.

Given the enormity of what she did, she traveled to distant planets, saved the world, for God's sake, it seemed silly to think about career. And most of the time she had more important, more interesting things to think about. But she had given her life to the Air Force, a decision she had never regretted, or never for long anyway. And so long as she was going through the gate rank didn't matter so much, she really didn't envy the decisions the Colonel had to make sometimes. But when the day came that they decided she was too old to go through the gate, well the stars in the skies weren't the only one's she wanted.

A lot of things had to go right to make General, when you got to the rarefied levels any blot on your record could make all the difference …. And all through one's career there were turning points…events that marked a ceiling or propelled you onward, marked for promotion. She figured she'd have to screw up pretty badly to lose Hammond as an ally, and a powerful one, but he was not all-powerful and not without enemies. Chasing around the planet searching for invading aliens, running a massive surveillance operation…. Only to discover the whole situation could be traced to a loose-lipped Second Lieutenant's geeky brat… There would be no punishment, no reprimand, just that fatal mark in her file… Whereas if it was all true, and they managed to uncover, and destroy, a Goa'uld run cult with plans to take over the world, then she emerged a hero marked for (secret) glory.

Strange to find herself half-hoping for an alien invasion.

God, she was tired. She had been able to penetrate the Denver server, locate the files she was sure held the registration information, usernames and passwords, another file she thought probably held the ip addresses of the current players, which might be of some use.… but she just couldn't break through the encryption. Strange things were happening, every time she did poke into the restricted area, sooner or later she would suddenly find herself ejected, find herself not exploring a game server in Denver but a bank in Las Vegas, an insurance company in Chicago, a rather specialized porn site in LA, as if she'd just been randomly redirected against her will. Her two assistants weren't faring any better and were beginning to grow irritable in their own rights.

And paranoid, twice her monitors detected activity that seemed to indicate someone had unauthorized access, which was impossible given all the firewall and security protocols and of course when she went to check the logs they were clean. She was seeing things. And so was her nervous assistant who thought she had seen a similar event… with the same results when they checked.

"Sorry, Major."

"Hey, better safe than sorry, Mike. I'm seeing things too. Take fifteen, clear your head a bit."

It was good advice, she thought. Ought to take it herself. She had been about to call an airman to get coffee and aspirin delivered but decided she could use the walk. She stood, stretched and headed down toward the infirmary.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In a bag on a shelf in a rather chill cabinet deep under a mountain in Colorado, Captain Benjamin Werner, (deceased) opened his eyes and began to assess his situation, calmly and methodically, like the true professional explorer that he was.

**-30-**


	7. Chapter 6: POV

**A/N: **See Chapt. 1 for disclaimers, warnings, timelines

Secrets: A Father Goose Tale  
A BTVS-SG1 Crossover

Chapter 6: POV 

**Stargate Command, Colorado, October 2007**

Darkness. _Blackness. _Quiet. No, there were noises, a little in the distance. He raised his hands, pushed gently against the enclosing vinyl, found the zipper.

_I'm in a body bag. And… I'm not panicking…why is that? Drugs? I like to think of myself as generally calm in a crisis but there are limits, my heart should be racing..……. Wait a minute. _

He took a deep breath and held it… and held it …. And held it. He let it out and laid still. _Okay, that seems to be optional. _

He was remembering… the women. At his neck, feeding. He grabbed at his throat. No, seems okay. Feeding. He remembered drinking. _That's ridiculous. _But his hands went to his face.

_Ouch. Sharp. Okay, still feeling pain. _More carefully this time he explored his face. Fangs. Bumpy forehead. _Why a bumpy forehead? _

_Okay. If is a dream eventually I'll wake up. For now. .. vampire? _It felt …right. He pushed at the vinyl, it parted easily, either they'd used a pretty shoddy bag or … he clenched his fist. Strong. He could feel it. He twisted around in the tight space and found the door and pushed with slowly increasing effort and with a slight screech the catch gave and the door swung open. He could see again.

He dropped lightly to the floor and stood, stretched, he was a little stiff. He smiled thinly at the thought. He was on the base, he could tell by the smell. I'm in that little room just off the infirmary we all know about .. and try to ignore. He sniffed again. _Blood. My blood….dry. _In the corner a file cabinet, he broke the lock and pulled it open. _My…. Personal Effects. Okay, the shirt's had it, but pants, shoes…. Passcard, ID. Dogtags. Wallet. …. No car keys…?_

He went to peer out the door. Bright… No, not really, lights were on normal…even low night levels, but he could see … like a cat. Like a creature of the night. He could hear voices, laughter. Smell warm bodies…. The stand-by medical crew, they would be in their break room, on-call in case an emergency came back through the gate …. But no one else moving around, so, must be night, late night even, week-end. He eased out into the infirmary. It was a familiar room, everybody spent time there after each mission. He thought a moment, trying to remember …. Yes. He crossed the room quickly, opened a closet and withdrew a white coat and pulled it on, buttoning it up to cover his bare torso… Less noticeable now but still have a problem, need to see how obvious the fangs are. He hurried into the nearest bathroom and looked in the mirror.

_Whatthehell? _He held his hand up. He could see that. Not invisible. He waved it in front of the mirror. How? _Okay, no reflection… my clothes too? How? _For a moment he was caught up in the physics problem, light refraction? Phasing…. Then stopped himself. Later, no time for that now. Have to use touch, he felt his fangs… pretty big, he decided, noticeable. Maybe a surgical mask… He felt them move… _I wonder….yes. _They retracted, his face felt smooth, normal, he relaxed … oops. Okay, going to take a little practice. In out, in out, in … hold it. Hold it…

He heard footsteps, sensed movement, opened the door a crack and peered out. Someone was going into Fraiser's office, opening one of the cabinets, she turned, he could see her face.

Samantha Carter. Normally when he saw her his heart raced, just a little, pathetic really but still, hope springs eternal… or maybe not. Heart not racing, he was …salivating.

The urge hit him strong, thirst like he'd been in the desert for days….

She'd found what she'd came for, she was turning toward the door … now, while she's alone. He started forward, then instinctively shrank back as another figure appeared. Carter stiffened, shrank back herself with the same instinct, standing by the desk with her hands behind her back like a kid caught in the cookie jar. Yasmine. She who made Fraiser seem like a pussycat.

"Who's in there!" the big woman demanded. "Sam Carter, I might have known. It's Saturday night, for God's sake, Carter, you oughta be out making some big strong man lick your thighs, not skulking around here…. Let me see your hands. Don't give me that, rank don't mean shit when you come through that door, Missy. Give me…. Oh. Aspirin. Okay then. But you go easy on that too, it ain't candy. And go home. If you won't get laid at least go dream about it."

He watched Carter scuttle away, Yasmine stomped back into the break room, and he moved …. Quickly, very quickly indeed, this part was…. Cool. He was in the hall, he could smell Carter's trail lingering in the air, he followed after, closing…

"Hey, Sam, there you are …. Got a sec?"

"Sure, Daniel, what is it?"

Damn. He clenched his fists. He had the strength, he could… kill them both. No, not now, if one got away, even if just long enough to sound an alarm... He needed to get out of the base, needed time to figure out his situation. He was trapped here.

He needed to get to the lockers, needed to …. Get past the two geeks who were standing there talking like they might do it forever. He looked around…. A storeroom. He broke the lock quickly and went inside, grabbed a clipboard and some paper off a pile and went back out into the hall, striding along with steady purpose, staring at the clipboard he went past them, throwing Carter a casual salute as he passed, she nodded vaguely out of habit and ignored him.

He paused a moment in front of his own locker, reached up and ran his finger along the nametag. _Captain Benjamin Werner. _Still a Captain, he thought, the military wasn't like marriage. It wasn't 'til death do you part. It was beyond. Death meant you truly belonged. Inside there were fresh underwear, BDUs. He stripped and redressed, looked around. SG16 was offworld so…. He broke into Major Odom's locker, searched a moment, found his car keys and his ID/passcard. Just in case.

It was foolish, but he couldn't help himself, he went down, to the gateroom.

"At ease, sergeant," he barked quickly as the duty officer started to rise. He stood at the window, looking at the stargate. It had become his life, going through that strange metal circle. Maybe this was his last chance… maybe he should go through now. No, that wasn't it. There wasn't a planet he would rather be on … It was the going to new ones that he would miss. He tried to make his heart beat manually, the way he'd learned to retract his fangs. No go. Maybe a pacemaker… He pictured the scene, saw himself saluting General Hammond,

_"Captain, heard you were dead." _

"Got better." 

No, maybe he could fool Hammond, but Fraiser… But so what. He was different. So was Teal'c, they let _him_ stay. Maybe he should just go to Hammond now. Surely a man who didn't need to breathe, with superstrength, would be useful. It was tempting. But he was hungry. That might prove awkward.

And they would dissect him. Put him in a cage. Study him. Maybe even turn him over to NID. He needed to know more. Maybe later, when he understood it himself, if he could give them answers, he could find a way back. It wasn't desertion, can't go AWOL if you're dead, right?

He had no trouble reaching the surface, people came and went at odd hours all the time here, security didn't think twice about a grumpy officer heading home in the middle of the night. It wasn't like he was chatty with the guards at the best of times. He found Odom's Bronco in the long term parking, unplugged the block heater, started up the engine. Now what. Home? That could get complicated…

Then suddenly he knew what he had to do. He grinned, put the vehicle in gear and started down the mountain, fiddling with the radio. He found a country station, smiled to hear ol' Willie Nelson singing,

_Yesterday is dead and gone and tomorrow's out of sight.  
And it's sad to be alone. Help me make it through the night. _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Rome, Italy, October 2007**

"Maybe we should get some sleep and look at all this with a clear head."

Andrew and Dawn stared at one another and started laughing. Nobody was sleeping tonight. Well, Giles would, but it was a close thing, she had the number half-way dialed before she remembered the time and decided a few more hours wouldn't make any difference, let the man sleep.

Andrew got up, mumbled something about washing his face, she gave him a quick hug, then went to look closer at his discoveries, peering at the image of ….. a 'goa'uld.' Yuck. She looked around at his room with the full size mural of the Star Wars cantina scene on one wall, the Deathstar on the ceiling, the Silver Surfer and Galactus sharing space on the other wall with a floating city lit by twin suns and populated by various larger than life characters from the comics on the shelves…

And he finally discovers an alien and it's basically it's a vicious, intelligent tapeworm. Poor Andrew. Even the 'Alien' alien would be better than that.

She did a quick double-check of his of work, making sure he hadn't left a trail. Nothing leaped out at her. Maybe later to be sure they'd hit it with Willow's total invisibility spell. But he'd done a good job. She started to poke around randomly in the files he'd downloaded. He was right. There was an immense amount of raw data here. She went to make coffee.

They sat side by side, learning the odd pathways of the Air Force filing system, reading reports and tracking down stills and video, Andrew began to cheer up, stopped grumbling underneath his breath and began to make little happy noises, with the "Yes!"'s and the "cool!"'s. There were pictures from other planets, there were aliens that weren't worms. Crystal people. Robots… at one point he leapt from his chair, dancing around the room with excitement,

"_Roswell Grays, _I knew, I knew it, I knew it…"

There were the remnants of long dead alien societies, mysterious artifacts and strange technology. Peaceful superbeings who could raise the dead and cloak whole cities. A galaxy filled with habitable planets and human societies ranging from stone age to advanced in ways not yet understood.

Even the worm things… once he began to understand the whole freaky symbiote thing with the Jaffa, and the mature Goa'uld being the ancient Egyptian gods and the Johnny Appleseeds of the human galactic diaspora … became more interesting than disgusting, Jabba the Hut writ small and slimy.

There were spaceships shaped liked pyramids. Hyperdrive.

It was all he could do not to write a few hundred, "Told you told you told you!" emails.

But first he had to deal with Dawn. Her face a coruscating parade of joy and excitement, and anger. And absolutely white hot incandescent rage.

First there had been the whole "Wow!" and "Holy Shit!" factors. And then for a while she'd got caught up in the whole Egyptian thing, trying to compare Jackson's notes with what she remembered of her studies of Egyptian myths and prophecies, recognizing the 'Goa'uld' language as images thought in Watcher circles to have been a lost demon language …she could hardly wait to dig up those text's and start translating now she had a key….

But reading Jackson's notes and the Egyptian Abydos connection drew her attention back to the recent history of the chappa'ai. The anger started.

Actual working wormholes. Alien life. Knowledge to reshape the way we view the very nature of our own existence in ways that hadn't happened since…. the Renaissance? The printing press? Language itself? Ever?

And the vile selfish bastards had the unmitigated gall, the inconceivable arrogance to keep it to themselves, secret, hidden, a private playground where they blundered clumsily about waving sharp sticks and seeing value only in that which mirrored their own violent selves.

For years now the narrow brained fuckers had been exploring new planets and meeting new races and then jerking off over the cool new toys in secret in their own dank little cave.

Greeting the universe with nothing but eager guns and few token eggheads as if they and they alone represented the whole entire freaking Earth.

She'd calm herself and read for a while and try to ooh and awe over the beguiling landscapes beneath alien skies, but the soulless militarese in which they couched such miracles would set her off again and she have to stand and walk and rant and rave….

_"Fucking arrogant fascist bastards….." _

"Cowardly conceited paternalistic white male ….." 

Andrew would intervene, speaking gently, soothing,

"I know, Dawn, I know, but they've done some good things too…"

"I know, Andrew, but just because this, what'sisname, O'Neill person isn't a complete asshole like his bosses doesn't mean the whole setup isn't fucking evil."

"It's not the _Initiative_, Dawn, they're not out capturing aliens and torturing them."

"Golly. No systematic torture. What magnificent self-restraint. I guess they've learned their lesson and will never ever do it again. I trust them, don' t you?"

"Dawn. It is dangerous out there," Andrew pulled up a screen of reports on Apophis, "Real dangers that threaten the world just much as the Hellmouth does. We need to be able to defend ourselves from alien aggressors. Not to mention possible diseases, bacteria."

"Of course, Andrew, I'm not stupid. We need security and defense, of course we do. A controlled environment. The military has to be involved. But you don't put the damned military dogwankers _in charge, _and you don't let them keep it their own little secret and don't _even_ try to defend _that _bullshit."

"Dawn," Andrew pulled up another screen, pulled a picture of two moons hanging low over a purple sea, "Ohhh," he said, "Pretty. Look, Dawn, pretty, pretty…."

She stared at him a moment, then snorted and hid a grin, stepped forward and hugged him.

"I'm sorry, Andrew. I'm spoiling it for you, aren't I? This is your big 'I told you so!' day isn't it? It is wonderful. Magnificent. Amazing. Aliens. Space travel. In our lifetime. Tell you what, I know I was going to do it earlier, but I wasn't thinking. You should be the one to tell Giles. And then when he hangs up I'll call him and tell him it's really true, and make him call back and apologize, okay?"

The peace lasted for nearly a half hour, then the muttering started,

_"Short-sighted nationalistic bureacratic hypocritical….. _

"Deathloving neanderthal military whores……" 

And then suddenly she went silent, then sent something to the printer. Then while the printer was making it's usual odd cranking and wheezing warm-up noises she left the room and came back with her laptop. She opened some files on her computer and began making some comparisons with the printouts. Then she stood and went to the far end of the room and gave vent to her entire, extensive, multi-lingual vocabulary of profane words phrases and concepts with accompanying gestures of emphasis.

She took a deep breath and came back and sat down beside him, spoke softly.

"I will have those bastards on a spit Andrew. We're going to send those files to every newspaper magazine and blog on the planet with an email address. I'm going to track Willow down on her little walkabout and we're going to whip that Stargate away and set it up in Times Square or something and fill that mountain with Cat's bile and toad sputum and let the fuckers swim out."

"Whoa. Okay," Andrew said with hands raised, "what brought this on?"

"Did you read Jean-Luc's report on the Haiti clean-up? You know, the one where Xander came back with the cool guns you shot the storage room up with?"

Andrew smiled, "Those were cool…. Er. Well, I may have skimmed Jean- Luc's a little. I read Xander's."

Dawn smiled tightly.

"Yeah I love Xander's reports too, _'Bunch of Zombies on Hill. Killed them. Freaky glow-eye demons with free snake surprise inside. Killed them. Also killed free snake surprise. Partied.' _Jean-Luc's was a little more detailed. Including the part about Faith getting bit on the back of the neck by one of the snake things before Xander pulled it off her." She handed him her laptop and pointed.

"Don't you get it, Andrew? Those things, those Goa'uld, they are here. On _this _planet. _Now. _And because those arrogant bastards are so tight with their little secrets we didn't know anything about them. We weren't expecting mind controlling parasites to be leaping out of dead bodies and we came _thisclose_ to having Faith being taken over by one of those worms." Her voice broke just a little. "You just stop and think about that for a minute, Andrew. …Then give me one reason why we shouldn't blow their little secret to hell and back."

Andrew shut the laptop and set the printout aside, and sank to his knees in front of her and took her hands in his and looked into her wet eyes and spoke softly.

"Dawn, you're talking about seriously pissing off one of the largest, most heavily armed, technically sophisticated, trigger happy military forces on the planet. And remember, I stumbled into this by backtracking one of their people who was poking into our business. We have to be very careful about this. I don't want to be sitting here when a smart bomb comes through the window and the next time I go to Cuba I want to have mojitos in Havana not sergeant's boot in Guantanamo."

"We can take care of ourselves."

"Sure Dawn, we could take few girls and 'port into the mountain and slit a few throats. Or we could do it in Washington. But we really don't want to go there if we don't have to, do we? Nobody wins that war. And Darth Willow is like the proverbial gun that you never point if you're not going to use it. It's one thing to have her wipe out a secret base in a distant jungle. A major base in the heart of the States is something else. We'd have to scorch the earth. If we use her just to scare them we only make her a target for assassins. We don't want that, do we?"

Dawn smiled thinly and shook her head. Andrew went on.

"They don't know we know. We need to arrange more storage and get the rest of data copied to at least a couple back-up sites. Then we have leverage. A little insurance. _Cuius testiculos habes, habeas cardia et cerebellum." _Dawn nodded. "Well, don't even think of asking, but I can tell you from experience that it's a lot easier to grab their balls after sneaking up from behind than after spitting in their face."

"You just want to blackmail them into giving you a trip through the wormhole," Dawn said.

"Well, yeah. And back. I want them to have a reason to bring me back, okay?" he grinned. "We need to talk to Giles, and this time, we really do need to get some sleep before doing anything major."

"Okay, but we have to let _our _people know, _now. _"

"Yes, I agree. Why don't you write up a memo, we can have Giles pass it on to the watchers and slayers. And I'll update the information on the game. And Dawn, tell you what, I'll make it look like the new information came from a player in Beijing. That should get their knickers in a twist."

A little later Dawn felt a hand on her shoulder as Claudio squatted between them,

"Watchya guys doing?" he asked.

"I'm writing a memo about aliens infesting the earth," Dawn said, "Andrew's being all wise and stuff. It's a little disturbing."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Colorado Springs, Colorado, October 2007**

Debra Werner lay awake staring at the ceiling feeling … a bit spacey. Major weird day. Ben was dead. Hard to believe that, really, he'd been so…. Solid. Steady.

She knew people thought she'd only married him for the steady paycheck, and she had to admit, a O-3 pay with the likelihood of more and damn good retirement bennies had been a factor, the best any her circle had ever managed before was an E-9.

But it wasn't just that. Maybe it never really had a chance but she'd be convinced herself she was ready to settle down, be a good wife to a good man. An Officer and a Gentleman. And Ben was that. All the little things, old fashioned things, opening doors, pulling out chairs he did automatically. He was quiet, he listened to her talk, which was a rare thing. He never talked about his work, said he couldn't, and seemed genuinely to regret it. She'd spent a lot of time sitting in bars listening to guys tell stories, she figured she'd developed a pretty good bullshit detector and he didn't ping at all. She figured in time, little by little he would let her in.

But he never did. He went to work, sometimes he was gone for a day, sometimes for weeks. His body would change… lose weight, gain weight, maybe a tan. But he was the same. Always the same. He listened to her tell him of her day… and the more she talked the more she felt overwhelmed by the nothingness of what she had to tell him. Hung out with yadda yadda, went shopping with yadda yadda. She went back to work, but somehow tales of real estate sales lost their dramatic punch in his presence. They went to dinner, watched a movie, had fairly athletic if unimaginative sex and that was her life and she began to hate it. She could feel herself becoming mean, petty, better a fight than another quiet night of nothing. She went back to her old life, hanging out in bars waiting to be entertained. She knew in her heart she had wanted to get caught, wanted him to lose that cool and rage at her, scream at her, fight for her, she'd lashed out, tried to provoke him…. But he had simply gone cold and turned away and was gone, he might as well be on another planet.

And now he was dead. Murdered. The sheriff had come. Routine investigation, he'd said. On TV when they said that it was bullshit, but she knew the sheriff didn't believe for a moment that she was capable, either of doing it herself or getting Billy to do it. He'd asked if he could look around, she'd said sure, why not. He'd checked the kitchen and the bathroom, and of course he'd found her stash box sitting out on the dresser in the bedroom and rolled his eyes and hinted that the Air Force people might be along later with a search warrant and maybe they wouldn't turn a blind eye. She'd wanted Billy to hide it for her but he was paranoid they were being watched and kept going on about how a drug bust would fuck up his career and lose him his wings. Then he'd taken off. Chickenshit.

So she'd gone to flush it and decided that was a terrible waste that she minded terribly and she made up a couple serious mega blunts and sat on the back porch smoked the whole stash. Sure enough the Air Force had shown up all stern and serious. She didn't remember too much about that. She remembered that she'd laughed a lot. And the Air Force, not so much. Then Billy had come slinking back to take advantage of her malleable condition. And now it was the wee hours and she was laying awake and really really wishing she'd hidden one of the blunts in the backyard, they never even looked out there.

Someone was knocking. Steady. Unrelenting. Finally she got up and went to the door, flung it open,

"What the fu…"

Ben. Dead Ben standing in the porchlight, looking puzzled, doing some kind of mime thing in the doorway. Must be dreaming.

"Ben… they said you were dead."

"Nope. Just resting. Can I come in for a minute I need to talk to you about something…"

Something about the way he was staring at her made her hesitate…

"No-o, I think maybe you should come back in the …."

"Who the fuck is this…?" Billy appeared behind her, belligerent and sleepy. "You know what fucking time it is? Get the fuck outta here, man."

Ben stared at him a moment, then smiled and turned back toward driveway. "That your truck?" he asked.

"What's it to ya?"

"Shame about the paint job," Ben said, twirling his key chain.

"Billy, no," she tried to grab at his arm, but it was too late, Billy lunged out the door and Ben took him like he was a ninety-pound weakling and threw him down and Debra heard a brief surprisingly high pitch scream and stared in horror as Ben dived down on top of him and….. No. She wasn't seeing that. She wasn't.

Suddenly a strange woman appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Ben and pulled him away, using some kind of wrestling hold to offset his weight as he struggled, another woman came running up and began pulling at Billy's legs, trying to move him back toward the door,

"Help me," the woman called, "Hurry, help me get him inside, please."

Debra looked at her, she seemed frightened, her blue eyes pleading as she struggled with Billy's bulk,

"Hurry, help me, please," the woman gasped and Debra stepped outside.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leticia held her nose and made the woman shower, then tied her to the bed while in next room Ardyce admonished the Captain for his sloppiness, then forgave him on the grounds it was his first. Ardy brought the Captain in. She and Ardy each took one of the woman's legs and held them wide as they let him enjoy the moment, let him tease her neck and breasts before moving down to find the throbbing vein in her thigh. Letty kept one hand over the woman's heart, listening for the warning signs,

"Captain," she said. For a moment she thought he was going to resist her, but he backed away and sat up, looking at her, his eyes bright, lips wet.

"Yes, baby, I know," she said. She leaned in for a deep kiss, a taste of the woman's blood, he reached for her and she was tempted, but there was no time. She eased him away. "Not now, hon," she told him. She reached in her pocket, pulled out new toothbrush and a tube of paste, handed it to him. "Go clean up. We've still got a busy night."

The woman was awake, but in that dazed state the shock and the blood loss left them in. Leticia gave her sharp but not too hard slap to wake her, went to vamp face and when she was sure she had her full attention said,

"You want to live, my dear?" The woman nodded. "Good. You had a fight with your friend and he drove off and you never saw him again." She waited for the nod. "You never saw us. You never saw the Captain." Nod. "You be a good girl and you can live happily ever after. We'll come by, check on you from time to time, there may even be little money for you." Nod. "Tell anyone about this and I'll rip your heart out and eat it like an apple while you watch. And die."

"No, please, no."

"Then be good." Leticia untied her, eased her down, kissed her forehead and tucked her into bed.

They threw Billy's body into a snowy ravine, it would be found in the spring, if at all. They left his pick-up at the truckstop just outside of town with the keys in the ignition, they did the same with Odom's Bronco at a gas station on I-25.

Leticia checked her watch, leaned her head out the window, sniffed for the first warnings of dawn. No, they had time yet, if they were quick. At the Captain's house he packed quickly, Ardyce stood at his closet, shaking her head.

"You understand, you have to wear civvies for a while, grow your hair out a little." He nodded. He took some clothes, a few books, a picture of his mother, his small cd collection. His medals. One small suitcase and a garment bag for his dress blues. He looked around, shrugged and led them back outside.

At the ranch he was introduced to a growling Buster and Keaton, who came around with a little cajoling from Letty, eventually allowing him to feed them the dog treats Ardyce supplied. Inside they took him down through the trap door to the basement, there was a TV and dvd player, a desk, a La-z-boy and a big four poster bed with satin sheets.

"You'll be staying here a few days,"Leticia explained, "It's going to be too dangerous outside for a newbie for awhile. Then we'll help you find your own place. Now, you have questions?"

Leticia let Ardyce play teacher and started back upstairs, pausing just a moment to catch her friend's eye, asking, _"Are we sure about this?" _Ardyce nodded. _"We're sure." _

Upstairs she peeked out the window, the very first rays of morning light were trickling across the sky. She sat in her rocker and braced herself and took the plunge. She pulled out the throw-away cell phone she'd purchased, with cash, just for this occasion. She dialed, it rang, a machine picked up, she heard,

"Hello, you've reached the North American Headquarters of the Watcher's Council, if this is an emergency please scream or press one ….."

She waited for the beep and left a message.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Stargate Command, Colorado, 2007**

Jack wasn't much given to whistling a merry tune, but if he was he would have been. He was feeling good. He'd got home relatively early the night before. The TIVO thing had worked properly for a change and recorded the Friday night hockey game and he'd managed to get through all of Saturday without anyone telling him the score. And just to ice the cake the Avalanche had won with a goal in the last minute.

He'd let himself laze in bed a little in the morning, the early cartoons had featured both the one with the singing frog he rather liked and a Foghorn Leghorn segment.

He'd done his usual calisthenics, then stopped for a big greasy breakfast and bit of flirting with a cheerful blonde waitress at Hattie's Diner. Outside the day was bright, sunny, the sky was a brilliant blue and wide-open. Vampires seemed a long way away. Down in the dark belly of the mountain, he thought, it was easy to let the imagination get the better of you.

His phone rang as he was lingering over coffee, Hammond's assistant requesting his presence at a meeting, but he'd been expecting that, so it didn't much mar his mood.

He came ambling into the conference room with a cheery, "Hey guys, what's up?" sat and looked around and felt suddenly rather like a kitten in the dog pound.

Only Teal'c, who was his usually stoic self answered him with a civil "Good morning, O'Neill. The rest glared at him with varying degrees of the rage and resentment of the tired and angry for the rested and cheery. Carter looked like she'd been awake for three years, the rings under eyes giving her a seriously raccoonish appearance, a thought Jack urgently suppressed with some effort. Daniel was actually resting his forehead on his coffee cup, Dr. Fraiser was awake but not particularly happy, Hammond looked like he might explode.

"Well, let's get to it," Hammond said, nodding at his assistant to bring up some stills from the surveillance camera to illustrate his narrative. "We're all here because I called Dr. Fraiser and asked her to come in this morning to take a look at a dead body. Now I find I owe her an apology for wasting her time because it seems that early this morning the dead body got up, got dressed, saluted Major Carter in the hall, paid a visit to the stargate and walked out."

"Okay, this time when we call the council maybe we should leave a message. And maybe Daniel should do the talking?" Jack said.

"Colonel?"

"Oh, did I say that out loud? Sorry."

"Now, I don't know whether to reprimand Colonel Talbert for not leaving a full team on Captain Werner's house or commend him for leaving cameras but we do have this."

A monochrome surveillance video appeared on the monitor. Due to the time lapse photography the scene of Captain Werner packing his things with his two female companions looking on played like an old silent film minus the scratches and the piano accompaniment.

"Not too shabby for a dead guy," Jack said. "I'll just…. shut up now," he added under Hammond's glare.

"Colonel Talbert faxed those pictures to the local law enforcement for help with identification, and just before this meeting I received a call from Sheriff Johnson. It seems that Ardyce Almquist and Leticia Kearney are what's known as local characters. Eccentrics. Quiet. Keep to themselves mostly, but they've been around for a long as anyone can remember."

"You mean they're crazy?"

"No. It seems crazy people don't own nice pieces of ranchland that have been in their families since the homestead days. Crazy people don't buy a new jeep every year from the local dealer and donate the old one to the sheriff's office."

"Ah."

"So in the course of your investigation, Jack…."

"My investigation, sir?"

"I'm sending Carter and Dr. Jackson home to sleep if I have to have Dr. Fraiser sedate them. You may have Teal'c and Colonel Talbert will supply any warm bodies you need. Find out everything you can about these two…. Eccentrics. The sheriff would be obliged if you would be circumspect in your investigation, and if you find it necessary to approach them directly, polite. Now, _I'm_ telling you, Captain Werner or whoever or _whatever_ walked out of this facility this morning is privy to highly classified information and it is of utmost importance that we contain it, so you do whatever you have to do… Nevertheless it never hurts to listen to the men with experience. The sheriff also said you should be careful, it seems Ms. Almquist has a tendency to go around with a six gun in a quickdraw holster, and a sawed off shotgun in a shoulder sling."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Yes. I mentioned that to the sheriff and he said, and I quote, "You tell her." We meet back here tomorrow at 0800 hours. Good luck, Colonel. Dismissed."

**-30-**


	8. Chapter 7: Mozambique

**Chapter 7: Mozambique**

**A/N: **See Chapt. 1 for disclaimers, warnings, timelines

Secrets: A Father Goose Tale  
A BTVS-SG1 Crossover

Chapter 7: Mozambique

**Watcher's Council, London, England June 2007**

"It's just that I think Xander may be right, I need to stop sitting under a tree and listening to my navel and get out and see the world a bit," Willow said.

"Between you and me and the chair, Xander is often right in his own colorful way. So, are we talking saffron robes and a rice bowl? Riding a buffalo to the west? Great Hotels of Europe?" Giles asked.

"I'm thinking more 'Lonely Planet' than Fodor's. I was hoping you could have Zoey set us up with a couple of mid-size motorcycles. Thought we'd start in Europe, then maybe northern Africa…."

"A couple? I mean I can't tell you how pleased I am you aren't insisting on going alone, but surely a little party of four, five is not unreasonable? Even powerful witches have vulnerabilities…"

"And you'd really really hate to have me fall into the wrong hands."

"Well, yes, to be honest. With great power comes great responsibility, as Andrew would say.

"I'll be fine, Giles. I shall take measures to…. disguise my identity. And I think Shad," she nodded towards the tall African girl idly pondering a world map mural on the wall opposite Giles' desk, "and I are in …. complimentary places, spiritually. I think this trip will be good for her as well. But I think one slayer is more than enough for me to take away from her larger duties."

Giles polished his glasses for a moment . Put them back on and looked at her for a moment, then sighed.

"Well, when you reach my age and begin to see the finite nature of one's breath…"

"No," Willow said, "Don't even try that…."

"Hmmmph. As I was saying, I shall not waste my breath trying to argue the point. You have a time frame?"

"I need to tie up a few loose ends at the coven, two, maybe three days. Then we're off."

"Nadifa, a trust you are happy with this plan and schedule?"

"_Shad_ is fine, Mr. Giles. And yes, it does not matter to me where we go, so I am happy to follow Miss Willow's lead."

"Well, then, that's that, I guess. Happy trails, bon voyage. See Toby for any help you need with any details… and you'll come see me before you go?"

"Of course."

Seconds after the door closed on Willow's leaving the door behind Giles opened and a smallish young woman came out, moved to speak but stopped as Giles' held up his hand, mouthing,

"Slayer hearing," at her. She took the seat Willow had vacated and waited until Giles gave her the okay.

"Yes?"

"Sir, why North Africa?"

"I don't know. Might even be a misdirection. So, Kaitlyn, are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Of course not, Mr. Giles. But I shall do my best, we all will."

"I think just a touch less earnest enthusiasm would be reassuring … don't answer that. Well, you had best go make your own preparations."

"Yes, sir."

"And stop calling me sir. All this mistering is bad enough without that."

"Yes, sir." But she smiled. She stopped at the door and looked back at him. "You are a very devious man, Mr. Giles. You do realize this means I can never trust you again," she added and slipped out the door.

Ah, Giles thought sadly. Another illusion lost.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Denver, Colorado, October 2007**

Jennifer Redwolf took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders and tried to stop wishing Xander was there. At first she had resented it, Xander and Faith blowing in from the coast and dropping two more girls on her and the next day going off _skiing_, of all things… reports of Bigfoot sightings, her ass. They were at a some lala ski lodge, and, well maybe just Faith tearing up the slopes while Xander sat by the fire but that wasn't the point. A little help would have been nice.

It wasn't as if Renee wasn't driving her out of her gourd already, now she had Sassa and her condescending attitude … she'd taken one look at the curriculum and absolutely refused to waste any time in an American public high school. So Jennifer had to scrap all that paperwork and start working on getting Sassa into UCD for the spring semester. At least Sassa had agreed to help tutor the woefully behind Marisol in return for Jennifer's efforts.

Jun Lee of course was always quiet and helpful and sweet … so long as Renee was somewhere else. When the two were together it was always a relief to hear them fighting, because if they weren't fighting they were up to something.

But she'd hung in there and hammered out kitchen rotas and patrol schedules and regular if not daily demonology lessons, all the things that had seemed so simple back in England at the academy. She'd arranged bulk food purchases at a community co-op, got the alarm system to actually work properly. She'd found a reasonably brave and discreet kung fu instructor to supplement her own training sessions.

And above all she'd got the girls out of the habit of calling her _Heap Big Chief Wolfie_ and howling and now they were calling her either _Jen_ or _Redwolf_ with at least a modicum of respect.

And then Xander and Faith had come back and she'd seen the girl's faces when they heard him at the door and understood that they would never have taken her seriously with him there.

And now, after she'd got the referral from the Cleveland message board, he'd clapped her on the back and told her to be firm,

"They may have something we want. They won't have anything we _need. _You'll do fine."

And then he'd gathered up Faith and girls and taken them out to _mumble-mumble _so she could make her first deal with a demon without them all hanging over her shoulder. Still, she wouldn't have minded if he'd hung around for this one.

She dialed, a soft voice answered, "Yes?"

"Am I speaking with Leticia?"

"Yes, who's calling please?"

"This is Jennifer with the Watcher's Council returning your call. What can I do for you, Leticia?"

"Are you authorized to make amnesty arrangements?"

"Yes. What did you have in mind?"

"When word got around that you were opening a Denver office a lot of vampires moved down here to Colorado Springs… They are… Nevermind. I can give you a detailed map of the nests, lairs and favorite feeding grounds of over fifty vampires. In return I want amnesty for myself and two friends."

"And how do plan to feed yourselves afterwards?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Amnesty means we are willing to overlook past kills, Leticia. It doesn't mean we will turn a blind eye to new ones."

"Oh. I see. I … have an adequate supply of animal blood."

"Let's be clear about this, Leticia. Obviously you know we can't monitor you all the time, but we will make random checks, if we find you've broken the agreement we don't just put you back on the list, we put you at the top."

"I understand. That is acceptable. I have lived here for over a hundred and fifty years, Jennifer. I have lived a very civilized existence. You would never have even heard of me if you hadn't come to Denver and 'caused those thugs to invade my home."

"I understand, Leticia. Abide by the agreement and we'll do your dirty work and leave you alone. Can you appear in public?"

"What? Yes. I may not be raging beauty but I am presentable."

"As long as you don't have severe batface. We need to meet. We can do midnight behind the third mausoleum on the left if you want, but there's no need. Is there a decent, reasonably discreet coffee shop in town?"

"We have to meet?"

"We have to know who you are to give you amnesty, Leticia. And we like to look you in the eye. We guarantee safe passage to and from the meeting even if we don't reach an agreement. And swift dust if you try to double-cross us. Time and place?"

"Umm…. Perhaps tomorrow night at seven at the Sweet'n'Hot, on Bijou St.?"

"It's a date. Keep the phone handy, Leticia. If something comes up or we don't like the location, we'll call and reschedule. Questions?

"No. No, I believe I understand quite clearly. See you tomorrow."

"Thanks for calling, Leticia. Have a nice day."

Jennifer sagged, then jumped as a voice spoke behind her.

"Not bad, kid. I can't decide whether the 'have a nice day' thing is just wrong or perfect, but the rest was very professional."

Faith came swinging across the room on her silver crutches and did a little half-flip onto the couch and opened a bag of corn chips.

"Didn't mean to spy on you, Jen, just didn't feel going out to play on the fucking icy sidewalks just now. God, always, just as soon as I get comfortable. " She produced a long slim dagger and contorted until she could slide it down inside her cast and scratch. "Ahhh…."

"How much longer?" Jennifer asked.

"I'm ready to take the fucker off now, but Xan says I gotta wait a couple days to be sure. I think he just likes to see me limp for a change. And don't tell him I said this but I think I'll be cutting way down on the hop-a-long comments. This thing sucks. Oh, yeah, you got a Giles'o'gram on the computer in there. Says Andrew's discovered ET has worms."

"What?"

"Some shit like that anyway. Could change life as we know it. Or not. Shit, of course it's way the fuck over there. I don't suppose you'd be a good watcher and throw me the remote there, wouldja Jen. Jen…..? Shit."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Colorado Springs, Colorado, October 2007**

Jack had to admire the placement of the old ranch house, up on a small knoll, with a clear view of the approaching, winding loud-graveled drive. In fact the house had a clear view all around except for a thin wedge of trees that followed a thin arroyo to the edge of the outbuildings. Which meant there was only one way to approach the house with any kind of stealth, and then only on foot as the rough land would prevent mechanized transport. All of which meant there was no way to surround the house, and sidle up quietly. You either had to announce your aggression and arrive in force by the front or full on, no excuses sneaking in the back ... and Jack rather suspected that if there was anything to find in the house, there would be ample security measures waiting in the woods.

Or of course it could all be the innocent abode of an eccentric spinster lady, raising a few sheep on the old homestead and minding her own business. The defensive design left over from the bad old days of outlaws and Indians.

So he could take a squad and hump it overland and go in the back, he could take that same squad and a half dozen big black Air Force SUV's and arrive all scattering gravel and big guns waving … and in either case probably end up slinking away in embarrassment while two little old ladies shook their heads and started planning the stories they would tell, and from then on down at Hattie's Diner he'd be "that big Air Force officer who took a squadron up the hill one fine Sunday afternoon and captured Miss Letty and thirty-five sheep."

Or he could put on his service dress uniform and take Teal'c and a staff car and go out there and knock on the door and hope to hell Hammond's adamant refusal to believe in vampires would turn out to be correct. Jack was still a bit iffy on the whole undead thing, but something weird was happening and he'd seen too many strange things since starting his trips through the gate to rule anything out.

The smoked windows in the staff car did give the driver, one of Talbert's men, a chance to give the house a discreet once over with a thermal imager…

"There's no one inside, sir," the driver reported. "There are … animals and I think one human in the barn."

Jack stepped out, straightened his jacket, took a quick glance at "Murray" to make sure his hat was covering is forehead insignia adequately. There was a white picket fence surrounding a small yard in front of the house and as Jack approached the gate there was an outburst of barking and a pair of black and white border collies came running out of the barn to within about ten feet where they stopped and began to alternate bursts of loud barks with tentative forward feints and growls.

"Hi there," Jack said, and added hopefully. "Nice doggies."

There was a whistle then, and a male voice calling, "Buster, Keaton, come on back here, good boys, but you come on back."

The dogs quieted, gave Jack one last, eloquent, _you're-lucky-the –boss-called, otherwise-we'd–have-totally-chewed-you-a-new-one_ look, then turned trotted over to accept pats from, and then fall in behind a short, slightly pudgy Mexican man who was coming out of the barn, cleaning his hands on a rag.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Yes," Jack said, "we're looking for Ms. Leticia Kearny."

"Well, this is her place, but she's usually having her lie down this time of day. Something I can help you with?"

"We're sorry to disturb her but we really need to speak to her on an urgent matter."

The man stood looking at them for a moment, glanced over toward the house, then nodded, said, "Barn!" with such command that Jack had to fight the sudden urge to join the two dogs in their obedient retreat. "Just wait here a sec', please, gents," the man added and went through the gate and began knocking gently on the front door. After a moment the door opened inward and he went inside.

"This is going, well, don't you think?" Jack said. Teal'c looked at him, but did not reply.

The door opened again and the man appeared again, motioning for them to approach, then stepping back to hold the door as they went up the steps and inside to find themselves in a dim entry way with a choice of three doorways, that issue quickly resolved as the set of heavy wooden double doors on the left swung open to reveal a smiling blonde blue-eyed lady, who, despite her rather old-fashioned brown floor-length dress and white blouse ensemble appeared to be at least a few rotations short of her thirtieth year.

"Thank you, Jesús," the woman said and the Mexican man left, closing the door behind him. "Gentlemen, please," she added, 'come in, do sit down," she waved idly toward a pair of solid, leather covered wing chairs, an old fashioned wooden rocker and a long leather couch, all gathered informally around a glass and wrought iron coffee table. "I am Leticia Kearney …"

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, ma'am," Jack said, suddenly remembering to doff his cap.

"Ah, an Irishman like me father, you'll be, then, aye?" she said with a smile and, so far as Jack knew, a passable brogue.

"If you go back a generation or two, yes, ma'am," Jack found himself answering. "And this is my friend Murray."

"And where do you hail from, Murray?" she asked. Just for a second, Jack thought, he saw her eyes stray down to focus on Teal'c's abdomen where Junior lay hidden, then flick away, but it happened too quickly for him to be sure he didn't imagine it.

"I'm sorry?" Teal'c said.

"Well, ah don't mean to be politically incorrect," Leticia said in a perfect Jimmy Stewart voice, "but yore not from around these here parts now are ya?"

"I am from Mozambique," Teal'c said, bowing slightly.

"Oh my, how _interesting," _Leticia said, her voice returned to normal, and without a hint of anything but sincerity. "Please… " she said, pointing at the chairs again, "I'll just be a mo'," she crossed to another doorway at the back of the room and called out, "Shake a leg, Ardy, there's two _very _handsome gentlemen from the Air Force here and they look thirsty."

There was muffled answer in the distance. She came back and sat in one of the wing chairs, Jack sat in the other and Teal'c eased himself carefully down into the rocker. And sat rocking slowly.

"Ma'am," Jack said, "I apologize if we seem to be intruding on your personal life, but we … do have a good reason. Can you tell us… what you know about Captain Benjamin Werner?"

""I'm sorry, Colonel, I don't believe I know anyone by that name."

_Aha, _Jack thought, but tried to keep it off his face. He reached into his coat and pulled out a still picture taken from the surveillance video, showing the two ladies and Captain Werner packing.

"Perhaps you know him by another name," he said and handed her the photo. Jack braced himself, nor sure for what, screams of outrage, accusations of spying, outright denial.

She giggled. She brought her hand to her mouth to cover the laughter but her blue eyes twinkled.

"Oh my," she said. "It's seems I've been … what's the term… _busted." _

Just then the back door opened and a woman Jack recognized from the photos as Ardyce Almquist came in carrying a laden tray. She was dark of hair and eye, perhaps just a little bit more age than Leticia's showing in the laugh lines around her eyes. She was much more informally dressed in a light blue tank top and matching broomstick skirt, and was without, Jack was pleased to note, any sign of shotgun or sixshooter.

Leticia made the introductions and added, "I'm afraid the Colonel has just caught me lying about Captain Werner."

"Oh for God's sake, Letty, no one cares." She turned to Jack, added, "Personally I find the fellow dull as a rusty axe, but Letty claims he's a real tiger in the sack."

"Ardy! Please. These are gentlemen!"

"I dunno, look more like men o'the world to me. Now, gents, we've got bacon'n'egg, lamb'n'onion and I think a ham salad, help yourselves. Afternoon tea is generally a little light on the actual tea around here, but I'd be happy to brew a pot if you'd like."

"No, thank you, really….." Jack started.

"Letty has to have her la-di-da cocktail," Ardyce continued handing the blonde woman a glass of red liquid with a stick of celery that certainly looked like an ordinary Bloody Mary, "and I've got all the fixin's if you want something but you look like a beer drinker to me, Colonel, help yourself," she indicated the collection of bottles on the tray, "and you…" she paused, staring at Teal'c for a moment, "Orange crush."

"Don't pay any attention to her," Leticia said, "people just go along with her so she thinks she's knows things, take what you want."

"I am not familiar with this 'Orange Crush'," Teal'c said.

"Yes, it's hard to find these days, but you'll love it."

"So…..," Jack said, raising his voice just a little, "You _do_ know Captain Werner then?"

"Yes," Leticia answered. "I do. He's not in any trouble is he?"

"Of course he's in trouble, Letty," Ardyce said, grabbing a beer for herself and flopping on the couch. "If he was really rushing home to be with his sick sister someone on the base would have given him a ride." She turned to Jack, "He called us at… oh, early this morning, said his car had broke down and his sister had been in an accident and he needed to get to the airport. Not that we believed that, but not our business, really …."

"It could be true, Ardy, we don't know," Leticia cut in.

"Oh, I think we know _now, _don't you?" Ardyce replied nodding at Jack. "We… or, _I _just figured he'd buggered a General's wife or something. Not our concern, he's a friend, he needed help. We picked him up on the road that leads up to your big hush hush base on the mountain and took him to his place and he packed a bag. He's a very neat packer, for a man. We took him out to the Texaco station on I-25 where he said a friend was meeting him. We offered to wait, but he said he was fine and we left him there. Figured he didn't want us to see who picked him up. Probably another woman on his string."

"I am not on his string, Ardy. We had a few good times. That's all."

"So, what did he do, Colonel?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Jack said.

"Ha," Ardyce said, "not the General's _wife _then, told you he went both ways."

"Oh, nonsense, Ardy, a straighter man you never met in your life."

Some forty-five minutes later and not much wiser Jack found himself back in the staff car holding the brown bag of leftover sandwiches, beside him Teal'c sat holding the five remaining cans from the six pack of Orange Crush in his lap.

"That was a most interesting interrogation, O'Neill," he said. "I look forward to reading your report of the encounter. "

"I bet you do."

"Indeed. They were most interesting women. I do not think, however, that LeticiaKearny believes I am from Mozambique. I think it would be wise, O'Neill, if am to continue to claim this 'Mozambique' as my homeland I should visit this place. My knowledge is apparently inadequate to successfully carry out the ruse."

"Yes, well, next time say 'Chicago,' then I can help out a little."

"Colonel," the driver said, "I'll shut up if I'm out of line here, but you guys are talking like you just met with somebody in there … what, was it a video feed or something?"

"No, why?" Jack asked.

The driver held up his thermal scope, "Cause I could see you and Murray here plain as day, but nobody else. Far as this thing's concerned you might have been talking to ghosts."

"No," Jack said plaintively, "don't say that. Really. Don't use that word. I do not want to came back here tomorrow and find an abandoned burnt out building and discover that ninety years ago two women died in the fire."

"Indeed, that be most sad, O'Neill."

They rode in silence for awhile. Jack spoke to the driver,

"Tell Talbert to maintain surveillance on both women. Tell him to stay back as far as he can, but any time they leave this place, I want to know about it. And tell him not to rely on the thermals."

"Yes, sir."

They drove on.

"O'Neill?" Teal'c said.

"Yes, T?"

"Are there any of the lamb and onion sandwiches left?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leticia and Ardyce stood at the window, watching the black Air Force car disappear down the driveway.

"The black fellow," Leticia said, "where do you suppose…."

"Not Mozambique, that's for sure," Ardyce said. "And that thing in his gut, have you ever…."

"Nope." They turned as one and marched over to the trap door and pulled it open and dropped down into the cellar,

"O' Captain, my Captain," Leticia called out, "We need to have a little chat."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Rome, Italy, October 2007**

"Claudio," Buffy ordered cheerfully, "Pants. Now."

She continued on, doing one of the world's most unembarrassed walks of shame ever, into the kitchen where she emptied her bag of fresh cornettos and bocconotti into the basket. She reached in the fridge for butter and orange juice and then she heard it and froze.

Anyone else, assuming they would have heard it at all, would have heard,

_"mbmmff mmffemm mm," _but Buffy had learned to recognize Dawn saying _"Buffy help me," _in twelve languages and six different gag configurations and without hesitation she reached under the kitchen table and withdrew the sabre from its sheath fastened there and started down the hall toward Andrew's room.

There was a big sharpied sign on the door saying "Call Giles!! First!!"

Buffy leaned back to kick the door, then saw it was open already and just gave it a push. The door swung inward, there was movement on the right that, after a quick double-take she realized was Andrew diving into a fetal position, holding up a sign over his head that said, "Call Giles!! First!!"

Looking straight ahead she saw, over Andrew's bed another "Call Giles!! First!!" sign writ large in red sharpie. And on the bed, Dawn, legs duct-taped together, arms spread wide and duct-taped to the brass bed-frame, duct tape across her mouth and absolute fury in her eyes.

"mmffmfm fmfmm fmffmfsmmfs fmmsm mmmm m fsmmmfs mfmsmmsf," she said.

"Andrew, you will pay for this for a very long and painful time," Buffy translated. She looked at Dawn a moment longer, she didn't seem to be in any pain or immediate danger. Buffy pulled out her cell and hit the speed dial for Giles.

"Giles, why is my sister tied to Andrew's bed? What?" she looked again. "Well, she has her shoes off but other than that she's fully-clothed…. Ohmigod, I can't believe you did that. To _me. _You realize I have to go bleach my brain now. Oh, no you're not sorry. Not _yet." _

"mmffmfm fmfmm fmffmfsmmfs fmmsm!!!"

"Oh, Dawn says 'hi." So. What's the what?… Oh. Really. _Now_ you tell me….I see. Umhum. Sure." She climbed on the bed and held the phone to Dawn's ear.

"mmff fmfmms!" Dawn said, but listened. "Mmmfnns," she said after awhile, her voice subdued. "Mmmsdms." She jerked her head and Buffy took the phone back.

"Okay, Giles. Yeah, we can trust her. For now. We''ll call you back later. Bye." She began to rip apart the tape and Dawn sat up rubbing her wrists and glowering thunder and lightning and three kinds of sleet, cussing in Sumerian under her breath.

Buffy turned back to Andrew who was sitting back in his chair, though he did give off the vibe of scared rabbit ready to bolt.

"At ease, Andrew, Giles says it was in a good 'cause. You have to make your own peace with Dawn, though. So, big bad aliens, huh? Lemme see. No, seriously, Andrew….. really? That's just …… gross. Oh, well." She turned and took her pouting sister's arm. "C'mon Dawnie, I brought hot cornettos and chocolate bocconotti and you're not going to _believe_ where Lorenzo took me last night!" Buffy said.

**-30- **


	9. Chapter 8: Variety Optional

**Chapter 8: Variety Optional**

**A/N: **See Chapt. 1 for disclaimers, warnings, timelines

Secrets: A Father Goose Tale  
A BTVS-SG1 Crossover

Chapter 8: Variety Optional

**Barcelona, Spain, Late June 2007**

Willow trotted obediently along, trying to keep up with Shad as she strode back and forth and up and down the dark back alleys of the old town district, staring at the walls and muttering to herself.

They had taken a couple days in England to get used to the bikes and work the kinks out of the packing arrangements, then taken the weird ride through the chunnel, and a leisurely, back roads path across France, stopping when they felt like it, eating well, learning to cut back a bit on the wine. Shad was wide-eyed and curious and wholly flexible as to the route.

But now that they had reached Barcelona she had turned purposeful. They left the bikes chained up outside the _pension, _with, of course, a little extra magical protection.

Shad had simply waved at Willow to follow, and started off, first to Las Ramblas and then toward the sea …. Then down a side street that apparently hadn't led where Shad had thought it would. And now, clearly, they were lost. Well, Willow was in no hurry.

And then suddenly Shad was sprinting away at slayer speed and Willow let her go. She stopped to buy a falafel at a rather popular back alley storefront, then walked away and let her senses reach out….

She found the tall Somali girl four blocks away. A hapless vampire, toes dragging on the cobbled street, hung limply from one upraised fist. He was pointing frantically and jabbering instructions in rapid Spanish, the words, Willow assumed, a wasted effort as Shad had never indicated she spoke any more than a few Spanish phrases. Finally the vamp was pointing upwards at some faded carvings on dirty rock wall. Shad stood staring, seemingly lost in thought, then with an idle flick of the wrist she dusted her guide, stepped back and took a moment as if to mark the spot, then turned… and saw Willow and smiled with pleased surprise, apparently she had thought she was going to have to go find her.

She waved for Willow to follow, then trotted along to the next corner and turned, when Willow rounded the corner herself she found Shad beating an odd tattoo on a huge wooden door. After a brief wait the door slid open.

"Come," Shad said and motioned for Willow to follow her inside. In the weak spray of light from a distant streetlamp Willow could see strange symbols above the door, she did a quick translation spell and for a moment, and for her eyes alone the words glowed,

_"Church of the Left-Handed Serpent."_

"Come!" Shad repeated, and Willow acquiesced, they started walking down a long winding flight of well-worn stone stairs, below Willow could smell a dank, salt-water quality to the air, and began to hear the distant beating of drums.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Stargate Command, Colorado, O800 Monday, October, 2007**

Samantha Carter straightened the reports on the table in front of her and sat waiting for General Hammond to join them in the conference room, vaguely wishing for a cup of coffee.

She had gone home on Sunday to sleep for at least eight hours, as ordered. She had taken the pills Janet had given her and set the alarm and eight hours and twenty minutes later she was freshly showered and on the road back to the base.

She had spent some more time trying to trace the various servers in the vampire game, but whenever she got close she would find herself re-directed… no, not re-directed, transported like…. She refused to use the word _magic. _It was as if there were …wormholes in the internet. Hidden traps that she would fall through.

It couldn't be random. Far too often she ended up either in some high security system… government, military, major corporations, banks… that left her scrambling to escape before she was discovered and had to start explaining the rather large number of felonies she was racking up, or in the most perverted pornographic … Sam was learning you didn't need to leave the planet to find the really strange …

In addition, sometimes she found herself transported to entryway sites to various philosophy/religions, Taoist, Buddhist, Wiccan …or there were general, if perhaps a little pointed, essays on achieving inner peace or respecting privacy rights, she found herself perusing the works of Tom Paine once, another time Henry David Thoreau.

She refused to accept the idea that the system was unbeatable, but recognized she would need a brainstorm of some sort first. She tried some other tacks, she laid out a map and started marking her exact locations when she was transported. It worked to some extent, she learned that London and Rome were major hands off areas, but she couldn't narrow it down any farther than that and the game had pretty much told her that much in the FAQ.

Teal'c came into the room, greeted Sam with a nod and took his usual seat, Dr. Fraiser came in shortly after, followed by Jack who took a look around and left again, presumably to find Daniel.

She had tried playing the game, quickly getting the hang of the mechanics of the movements she at first spent her time searching through the various virtual landscapes, trying to find some sort of back door, a signature, any sort of programmer's show-off notion that might give her a clue. But she only managed to get her avatar 'killed' over and over by the monsters that seemed to lurk in every doorway or at the top of every stair.….. she'd consulted with Daniel who'd explained, briefly, that the purpose of the game was to be found in the interaction with the other players. She tried again, resetting her avatar so she was visible to others... but her text conversatons with the other avatars on the screen were awkward, her newbie status clearly recognizable, some quickly dismissing her as a tourist, several times she was given the Watcher's 800 number and told to call them if she really needed information urgently.

A player calling him or herself "Vampsmacker Z" took pity on her and explained how she could work her way up from potential to slayer to senior slayer, how she could pick up various special skills by performing virtual katas, beating obstacle courses, and/or answering quizzes on the properties of various demons. This was a concept she could understand and she put a little time into building up her avatar's "powers" and "skills" and was rewarded when a friendly, more or less like-minded group invited her along on what they called a "romp and stomp."

For nearly an hour she was busy guiding her avatar through the back streets of Prague, engaging in virtual duels with vampires and other things to, along with four other survivors, reach a castle tower and rescue an ungrateful princess _(Geez, took you guys long enough.) _

"Now what?" Sam asked.

"Now we party," she was answered. An address for an all-night bakery in Boulder appeared on her screen. As parties go, Sam guessed, it wasn't going to be Tailhook. And apparently the players didn't feel any real need to maintain their anonymity in any meaningful way.

"But isn't there another level or something? Some reward for rescuing the princess?" she asked

"Its not that kind of game," she was told. "See you next time."

"I don't think so," Sam said aloud, checking her watch and realizing just how much time she had just wasted getting absolutely nowhere.

She forced herself to take a break and got a sandwich and coffee from the cafeteria. Her mind a little clearer she had spent a little time tracing the money. To a bank in Panama and a dead end. The funds were regularly withdrawn in cash, presumably walked across the hall to another bank and sent off elsewhere. A possible weak spot, but any further exploration would require on the ground surveillance in a foreign country. The next move was up to Hammond.

She spent a bit more time searching the SGC records for aliens with regenerative powers, there were the Nox of course, and the goa'uld sarcophagi, and a couple other species they'd come across that had the ability to replace lost limbs, others with advanced medical techniques, and of course the Asgard cloning system. But nothing that seemed to apply to the Werner situation.

By then it was time to get her report in order and printed and that's when she came across the banana memo.

Jack and Daniel came in then, Daniel, his hands full of note books, looking like he'd made even more of a brief sleep-and-return than she had. Hammond followed moments later, taking his usual seat and shuffling a handful of report folders.

"I don't seem to have your report yet, Colonel," he said.

"Working on it, sir. Dotting the t's, crossing the i's."

"It's not that you're a little reluctant to go on record as having had a meeting with two young ladies, who, according to a little birdie, may not actually have been there?"

"Oh, they were there, sir. I'm just not entirely sure they're young ladies. They are liars sir. Good ones. They denied knowing Werner, and when they saw I had proof that they did know him they went right into another lie that not only explained how they knew him, it explained the first lie. They're either really quick, or they were ready for us. But they know something about Werner, sir, stake my pension on it."

"Well, then they're ahead of us. Dr. Fraiser?"

"Yes, sir. I reviewed his medical file, he had his last check-up a little over a week ago, after his return from PXJ-585. Everything checked out normal, as did all the other members of SG19. As you requested, SG19 came in yesterday, I'm still waiting on some lab results but I could find nothing abnormal. They said that, other than being a bit more subdued than usual since his divorce there was nothing unusual about the Captain that they'd noticed. None of them can believe he would do anything to hurt the program sir. The stargate was his life, they say."

"You did check on the ex, Jack?"

"Yes, sir. She seemed.. terribly frightened by something, sir. But Talbert said she was pretty stoned when he searched the house, so she might have been worried about being arrested on drug charges. We are maintaining surveillance, as we are on the other two … ladies."

"Dr. Jackson, how are you doing. Any progress?"

"I'm now a full-fledged Watcher with level one spell-casting powers, and blue belt status for both cross bow and staff… And I've got three slayers."

"That's very good, Daniel," Jack said. "How many of them are you engaged to?"

"None, though I did receive a rather intriguing offer."

"Did it happen to involve anything of possible relevance, say, Goa'uld sightings?"

"The offer, no, but yes, actually I did gather some information there. The existing information has been updated, rather accurately, I might add. They have correct information about the Jaffa, symbiote relationship. And the manner and nature of the mature Goa'uld taking over a host, including an estimate of the distance a mature goa'uld can travel outside a host that matches our own. There's also information about the glowing eyes and the increased strength and the hand devices…

"In other words, everything."

"Everything except their extra-terrestrial origin, actually, yes, although that's pretty strongly implied. There's a note…" he flipped the pages of his pad… "Ah yes, there's a note thanking 'Jade Penguin' of the Beijing game for the additional information.

"What?!" Hammond said.

"There's also a bit of buzz about them in the various chatrooms, a number of possible sightings from all over," he checked a list in one of his notebooks, "Miami, Houston, Atlanta, Managua, Caracas, Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires, Jamaica, Lisbon, Barcelona, Munich, Budapest, Ankara, Taiwan, Nairobi, Shanghai, Khartoum, Tripoli, Casablanca, Dakar, Capetown, Harare …. Of course, almost all of these are just reports of guys with glowing eyes which could be any number of things, mostly reflective sunglasses I expect. There is some talk about some small time cults whose leaders have rather Jaffa-like bodyguards. I know what this implies, but it is awful hard to separate fantasy from reality in this game…"

"Oh, really… " Jack said, but Sam thought his sarcasm lack a little of its usual …sincerity.

"Well, keep checking, Dr. Jackson. See if you can't find any specific sightings we can disprove or verify. It all seems very unlikely but if there is any truth to it we can't afford not to investigate. Major Carter, I've read your report, what I can understand of it anyway. Looks like a lot of hard work…."

"Getting me nowhere. Yes, sir. There is one thing I need to add. I trust you didn't write this, sir?"

She slid a piece of paper across the table and watched the General's brow furrow as he read aloud,

_"All personnel regardless of rank or function will obtain and carry at all times, concealed about their person; one ripe unpeeled banana, and two ripe grapes, variety optional…."_

"I can assure you, Major, I did not write this."

"Of course not, sir. Nevertheless as you can see it is clearly marked as coming from your office with your signature….."

"This hasn't actually gone out, has it?"

"No, sir. I only have it because I noticed it in the printing queue and marked as _urgent _so I downloaded a copy just to see what the urgency was. Once I saw what it was I went back to trace the file sir, and it was gone, and I've been able to find no trace of it on the system. If I didn't have the downloaded copy I would have had to conclude it was a figment of my imagination."

"Then who…"

"Exactly. I believe I am familiar with all the people on this base with the skills to… misuse the system in that manner, I cannot imagine any of them having the desire, or, frankly, sir, the courage to do this. I can only conclude that our system has been compromised. I think they intended to play a joke and thought better of it."

Hammond reached for the phone, "I'll have all internet access to the base disconnected immediately…."

"Sir, before you do that… First, I suspect it's too late. I have been noticing tiny fluctuations in energy levels, the slightest of hesitation in accessing some files, all well within normal parameters, nothing out of the ordinary, but in hindsight… The one advantage we may have is that they may not know we know they're there…"

"Say again…. No, don't, really, I get the idea," Jack said.

"If we shut down we signal that we've discovered them. And since I have no idea how they beat our firewalls the only way to keep the base secure would be for the entire complex to stay off the grid indefinitely. However, if we maintain normal operations we can perhaps sow a certain amount of disinformation, and perhaps they will make another mistake that will allow us to determine their identity."

"I don't know, Major."

"I do think we should keep any additional information gathered in this investigation offline…."

"So you're saying it's a _good_ thing I haven't finished my report?" Jack said.

"Colonel…" Hammond said.

"Just wanted to … get that out there. Food for thought," Jack added.

"Yes, sir," Sam said. "It is a good thing. Because now we can fabricate an entire new report. I suggest that we record that there has been a reported sighting of Captain Werner in Salt Lake that we are concentrating our investigation that area."

"When you say _we, _Carter…" Jack started.

"I mean mostly you, sir. I don't feel competent to convincingly recreate your… unique style."

"She's got you there, Jack," Hammond said with a smile.

"Sir, I don't suppose there's any important missions that might require SG1 to go offworld for a couple months… no, I didn't think so." Jack said.

"I just hope you're right, Major," Hammond said, turning back to Sam, "If it turns out we had reason to believe the system was compromised and didn't shut it down … and there was a subsequent breach…. We'll both be lucky if we can just retire. Okay, I want an update and I want that false report ready for upload and a detailed plan of action at 1200 hours. Until this situation is fully resolved, this _is _your one and only mission, SG1. Dismissed. "

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Slayer House, Denver, Nine-ish Monday Morning October 2007 **

"Ouch, easy there, hop-a-long."

"Pizza!"

"I thought you liked me sitting in your lap."

"For breakfast? Fresh pizza?"

"Love it, normally. When you're in a cast, not so much."

"Yeah, this is the good stuff, fresh from Rome."

"We could take it off."

"That's my shirt!"

"Yeah, Dawn sent it along with a bunch of files an stuff."

"No it's not!"

"Yes, it is!"

"Nice try. Tomorrow. Quit your bitchin'. Most people with a break like that would be in that cast for weeks."

"It's better while it's hot."

"Look see, it's my shirt, right there on the label. _Renee. _"

"Just cause you're pissed at Giles don't take it out on me."

"Well, you have to get rid of it then, cause I have one just like it."

"I'm not."

"Oh, is this the alien? Gross!"

"Why should I get rid of my shirt? Get rid of yours."

"QUIET!"

"What? Jeez, Jen, you don't have to yell, we were just…"

"Renee!"

"What?"

"Shut it. No, stop that. Pizza _after_ the meeting."

"It'll get cold."

"Then shut up and we'll get done quicker."

"Geez. Grouchy much?"

"Okay then," Jennifer Redwolf said. "See this? Red folder? This is the basic stuff about the aliens and the stargate that Dawn and Andrew found out. You will all read it today before noon. There's some more stuff here you can read if you want, but this you need to know. Got it …. Good. Tonight, Colorado Springs, we're leaving at four-thirty…

"How come so early…"

"Traffic and I want to get there in time to scout the town. Marisol and Renee, you two are on war chest duty, lots and lots of stakes, could be a big night. Jun, you're on the first aid kits. Sassa and I will prep sandwiches and so on, you're on your own for lunch today. I want everything in the front room and ready to go by four. Dress warm and bring a change. Vamp said there might be as many as fifty targets, we may have to stay over and finish it tomorrow if they scatter… Questions?"

"Is Xander coming?"

"No."

"Did Xander mean all those thing he said to Giles last night?"

"No," Xander said. "We just had a little disagreement. Just cause you guys can hear a gnat fart on the next block doesn't mean you have to listen to everything you hear. Sorry, Jen, all yours."

""S'okay. Any other questions?"

"Do gnats really fart?"

"Okay, here, Sassa, if you would, warm pizza from Rome, for fighting over, take it in the TV room."

"Hey!"

"Don't worry, Faith, she sent four. I hid a couple in the kitchen. I'm not a _complete_ greenhorn."

"Oh. Sorry."

"So, looks like we've got some reading to do."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Slayer House, Denver, Monday Afternoon October 2007**

"What I want to know is why this stargate thing couldn't be run by a secret cabal of science fiction writers," Xander whined into the phone. "Or typing monkeys. Have you read these reports, Dawnie? My god these people would describe a naked woman skiing down a mountain trying to outrun an avalanche as _humanoid, app fem, non-standard attire, proc. in a downward dir. Rate max given gravitational pull, less friction. Apparent object. Reach level area prior to fatal interaction with mountain specific geographic phenomenon type 4: snow, subtype b-sliding. Prognosis: undetermined. _My head hurts."

"Tell me about it," Dawn replied. "I just sent you the good stuff. SG1 on a new planet. Riveting. You should read one of SG-19's damn mineral resource assessments."

"Yeah, I guess. This guy O'Neill's reports aren't so bad. It's like he's a human being and everything. And Dr. Jacksons' are okay even if he does go on forever about declensions and suchlike. Thanks for the pizzas by the way. The girls say thanks too. Or they would if they thought of things like that. Look, I know you must be tired, I'll cut to the chase … Jen and the girls are about to head down to Colorado Springs, under the circs the timing seems a little on the hinky side."

"Yeah, we've been kinda watching that. They're kinda freaked by this Captain Werner who seems to have been turned. But your vamp did call cause there were a bunch of new teeth in town that weren't being so discreet, right? Might not be that big a coincidence. Anyway, seems like they got a report of him in Salt Lake. Sounds bogus to me, but they seem to be taking it seriously. But no, we haven't seen any "Things to do: Set trap for slayers" plans passing through Hammond's office."

"Okay, good. And no more banana apparel bulletins? Dawnie?"

"You guys are no fun." Long, sad sigh.

"Thanks Dawn. Get some sleep."

He rubbed his eye, stared moment down that stack of files he'd been reading. Flipped though some of the pictures. Other planets. Alien worlds. Still didn't quite seem real. Anti-climactic, somehow. He could hear the girls' voices in the front room, he took a breath. He went out, gave each of the girls a hug and a go get'em.

He pulled Renee aside, told her was counting her taking care of Jennifer, she pretended to be insulted,

"Well, _duh, _Xander," she said, then gave him another hug and bounced away.

He pulled Jennifer aside.

"You're doing great, I've got every confidence you can handle this whole deal. But don't hold out just to prove it, okay? Hit the emergency button, Faith and I will be there immediately. Don't forget to check in, miss a check in and we'll be there too. Thiago and the back-up team in Cleveland will be on stand-by. Even if this vamp is sincere, she may have underestimated the bad guys. Remember rule one. …. And keep an eye out for wacky military types hanging around, they get in the way they're liable to get themselves killed. So lets try to keep them out of it if we can, okay? Call the vamp and reschedule if you think you need to. Be safe."

He went back to the files. Ten minutes after the girls left Faith appeared in doorway wearing her cast. And a smile.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Colorado Springs, Colorado, Monday Evening October 2007 **

"So," Leticia said, smoothing the skirt of her gray suit. "What do you think? Proper attire for meeting with a slayer?"

"I'm inclined more toward a kevlar breastplate and matching collar, but you look fine, Letty. Very civilized. You too, Captain…"

"Ardy, please."

"Right, sorry. _Ben. _Every inch the urban cowboy, but that's mostly what's left these days."

They'd put him in cowboy boots and jeans, snap-pocket shirt, sheepskin coat and borrowed one of Jesus battered hats. They'd dyed his hair blonde and darkened his face a bit and stippled his chin a little to enhance the faint beginnings of a beard. A few careful lines changed the shape of his eyes if you didn't look too close.

"Okay, hon," Leticia said, "as long as we don't run directly into someone who knows you well, we should be good."

"Not likely to be anyone I know at the Sweet'n'Hot," Werner said.

"Okay. Now you remember. She may not look like much, but slayers are strong and fast and would just as soon dust you as look at you. They're going to probably push you a little, make sure you really can control yourself under stress. Just be cool. Be your own calm self and you'll be fine. Wish I could say the same for me."

"Don't start that Letty. It's going to be fine. We're gonna hold up our end of the deal and everybody says that ever since this Giles took over, the council's word is good. It's all going to be fine."

"Well, let's go then."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Stargate Command, Colorado, Monday Evening October 2007 **

Jack was just settling down to a nice _hamburger avec des pommes frites et le jello bleu_ in the cafeteria when his cell rang.

"Colonel, you left orders to be notified if the two women left the ranch."

"That's right."

"They're on the move now, sir, they seem to be heading into town. We're following but staying back sir."

"Okay. Stay with them, try not to be seen but I'd rather they see you than we lose them, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

He dialed out, "Carter, get Daniel and grab your gear meet me up top. I'll get Teal'c . We're goin' to town."

**-30-**


End file.
